


Lock and Key

by thebakkat



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: M/M, ghirazant - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebakkat/pseuds/thebakkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Demon Lord, Ghirahim finds himself growing rather attached to his newest source of amusement, Zant, the Usurper King of the Twilight Realm, and it causes him great vexation. How could he bond to another when he has a duty to his master, Demise, to fulfill?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An average nighttime tryst between Ghirahim and his newest lover turns serious as Zant attempts a peculiar Twili technique - NSFW scene.

Ghirahim rather enjoyed his new toy.

Zant, the Usurper King of the Twilight Realm – his elongated, gangly body now free of the obstructive eyesore he called an outfit – was pressed to him, nuzzling the strange curve of the bridge of his nose into the demon’s neck. Small, chaste kisses were slowly planted where his neck met his shoulder, the Twili softly sighing into Ghirahim’s skin, muttering something in that thrice-damned shadow speak of his. Ghirahim very, very nearly found it endearing that Zant would often revert to his native tongue, but he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the Twili was saying – and if it was supposed to remain a secret.

Yes, their relationship – if it could be called that – had grown quite close over the passing months, though only recently taking this passionate route. Since they had met one another, summoned from their respective times and dimensions at the will of their Master Ganondorf, Ghirahim delighted in getting under Zant’s skin – be it through taunting, displays of affection, or even stroking his considerable ego – every little touch and gesture elicited a strong response. The demon just couldn’t get enough of toying with his Twili.

Tonight was like most recent nights – after the two had retired, they found each other and became entangled, crushed against each other within minutes. They had already taken to removing their characteristic garments, the demon’s cool grey skin meeting Zant’s contrast of black on white – the Twili’s auburn hair and glowing eyes bursts of color against the pair.

Ghirahim was already calculating, planning where this particular encounter would go – would he claim control this time, and take the Twili? He rather enjoyed Zant’s squealing and begging as he scrabbled beneath him, the sensation of being penetrated still foreign and overwhelming… Or, perhaps, he would stroke that ego and convince the Twili to ‘dominate’ him, all the while putty in the demon’s hands? That was certainly easy enough – Zant acting under the implication of having control was truly a sight to behold, and coaxing him along was certainly entertaining. Oh, there were so many possibilities with this one…

“Ghirahim…?”

Zant’s voice pulled him from his thoughts – the Twili was staring rather intently at him with those peculiar-yet-beautiful eyes, already huffing and puffing, a blush spread against his pale skin.

“Hmm? What is it, my Twili?”

Ghirahim smirked as he saw Zant’s ears dip slightly at the term of endearment. Even the smallest reaction to Ghirahim brought the demon immense delight.

“If… if it would please you,” he started, gaze cast downward, “I would like to try something different, tonight.”

“Different?” Ghirahim didn’t know what he meant by that. They were doing something ‘different’ every night, in an effort to test Zant’s personal limits and to provide Ghirahim with more opportunities to explore his fascinating anatomy. “Do tell – what exactly do you mean?”

“Well… it’s sort of hard to explain, but… it’s a Twili method - or, a way of… doing things.” Zant prattled on, but Ghirahim wasn’t paying him heed – Zant had a way of becoming indecipherable when he was excited, anyway. Instead, he considered what sort of ‘methods’ the Twili, as unique as they were, had come up with. Surely this new technique would be interesting, and better suited to Zant’s body, with its bizarre flexibility – another popular plaything to the demon.

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” Ghirahim mused – he had apparently cut Zant off mid-sentence, but nonetheless the Twili seemed relieved, and grinned from ear to ear; Ghirahim licked his lips. “Guide me through the process, Zant.”

“Um, yes, well,” Zant coughed and shifted his position to a sit, his legs spread to accommodate a body between them. The slit between his thighs, tasked with concealing the Twili’s sensitive genitalia, was already flushed and glistening with slickness. “If you could imitate me, please…”

Ghirahim personally would rather have brought the Twili to his lips, to kiss and lick at the swollen slit, but decided to stay vigilant – for now, anyway. He obeyed, sitting across from Zant, but was just a bit skeptical – just what was he getting at…?

Zant took Ghirahim’s hips in his hands, moving himself closer to the demon so that they touched – as well as groping at his rear, kneading the supple flesh. The slit was warm and wet against Ghirahim’s arousal – Zant hooked his legs behind the sword spirit, and Ghirahim mimicked him, sighing contentedly as their skin brushed. Zant lifted a hand, gently running long fingers through the demon’s white hair before bringing their mouths together; The kiss was soft, but intensified as Ghirahim felt hands pressing against his shoulder blades, lanky limbs snaking under the demon’s upper arms.

Ghirahim’s tongue slipped from behind his lips, skimming those curious pits on the sides of the Twili’s mouth – he relished in the deep moan with which he was awarded, a shudder pulsing between their joined bodies. However, Zant quickly broke their kiss, his tongue sliding along the demon’s jawline before he settled at his ear, rolling the sensitive lobe between his pointed, needling teeth. Ghirahim cooed softly into the Twili’s own alien, fin-like ear – he used his voice quite often to goad Zant along, but this time, he added his flexible tongue, tickling at Zant’s neck, tracing along the delicate patterns of turquoise, which seemed to be… glowing? Strange, he hadn’t noticed them doing that before…

Zant and his tongue were moving again, this time to the demon’s neck, licking, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth on the skin, leaving dark marks as he went. It definitely felt good; Ghirahim found himself craning into the Twili’s mouth, but the sword spirit couldn’t help but feel a bit perturbed at the idea of his perfect form being marred. At the very least he could use his cloak to obfuscate the marks from the eyes of his Master’s army…

Ghirahim chuckled deep in his throat as he felt Zant start to roll his hips against him, the slit and its natural lubricant making the demon delectably slick – he couldn’t help but enjoy the eager Twili’s warmth on his skin. He returned the action, moving his pelvis in a counter rhythm to Zant’s – after a short time, the Twili’s anatomical secret, the pair of tapered, prehensile cocks, emerged from their hiding place, writhing against Ghirahim’s body without direction. Ghirahim desperately wanted to break from the Twili’s embrace, to tease the appendages with nimble fingers; taste their sweet, salt flavor, but Zant’s sudden exertion of strength did not allow for him to move. They twisted and curled around Ghirahim’s erection – the demon moaned as they squeezed him rather tightly, as hot and wet as a tongue against him.

Zant’s eyes were glazed over, sightless – he seemed strangely focused on his steady grinding into Ghirahim – saliva seeped from the corners of his mouth, glowing faintly in the dim light of the bedroom, and each movement of his hips was punctuated by a soft grunt. Whatever the demon did; a playful croon; a pinch at his shoulder; even a rather harsh bite at his neck, while earning him a slight yelp, did nothing to change the pace.

Ghirahim was a bit puzzled – he had no problem with frot, and Zant rubbing himself so enthusiastically against his body was certainly a pleasant sensation, but usually their interactions were a bit more elaborately thought out, or had a course of action – whatever this chaotic act was, Ghirahim thought, it was bizarre – and borderline primal.

They continued for what to Ghirahim seemed like an eternity – the Twili’s appendages would occasionally reset themselves on the demon, as if searching for something. They prodded at Ghirahim, questing around the head, the shaft, and even the sac below – Zant’s grunting grew frantic and desperate in tone and frequency as he grasped more tightly at Ghirahim – the cocks wrapped around him, trying to pull him closer, almost as if to angle the sword spirit into his own dripping slit, but groaned in frustration when it was just too stiff; too unyielding; possessing none of the same flexibility of his own anatomy.

Ghirahim was growing frustrated himself – he had definitely mulled the tantalizing thought over in his mind before, to thrust himself into that wet, warm passage, but the angle that it would require; the limit of available space; it would prove to be too complicated, if not completely impossible. He figured Zant would know his body best, though – however, his current state of mind was… distracted at best. The Twili could only manage to get the very tip of Ghirahim to press against him, whining as his fingernails scraped at the demon’s back. Ghirahim wasn’t looking directly at him, but he thought he might have seen Zant’s lip quiver; the wetness and heat of fresh tears detectable between their adjacent faces.

He had seen Zant cry before, especially during intimacy, but, from what Ghirahim could infer, it was simply due to an influx of emotions – the Twili was still very inexperienced in such matters, so it was understandable that he’d be overwhelmed.

This was different – there was definitely an air of panic; sobs wracked from Zant’s body, the incessant grinding growing chaotic as his muscles spasmed with each gasp of air. Ghirahim had to stop this before the Twili’s emotions got out of control, if they hadn’t already. He called out to him, but Zant wasn’t responding to his voice anymore; Ghirahim managed to free an arm from the Twili’s grasp, and pushed at Zant’s chest, trying to pry him off. 

“No!” cried Zant, scrabbling to embrace Ghirahim once more – but the demon pushed back, with both arms now, forcing Zant’s back against the sheets before pulling himself forward to sit on the Twili’s chest. The Twili continued to scream in protest, thrashing against the bed, tears and drool pouring from him as he sobbed. Ghirahim took Zant’s face in his hands, gripping him tightly to force eye contact – he bent low to meet the Twili.

“Listen to me. Whatever this is that you’re trying to accomplish, it isn’t working.”

The Twili stared through Ghirahim, but he seemed to be getting through to Zant – or at least he had stopped him from trying to buck him off.

“Look at you – you’re destroying yourself over this. You must stop, lest you succeed.” Ghirahim dipped his head, pushing back Zant’s sweat-mussed hair with his fingertips, and planted a soft kiss on the Twili’s forehead. “I simply won’t allow for it.”

Zant was still sobbing, and while his body shook with each breath, he otherwise remained still – Ghirahim took that as his cue to to pull back from him, joining the Twili on his side. Zant rolled his body to face away from the demon, clutching a pillow to his chest, a high-pitched whine emanating from him. Ghirahim huffed to himself and pulled closer to Zant, taking him in his arms and resting his chin on the Twili’s shoulder.

Ghirahim honestly didn’t know why he was wasting time with this. The Twili was no stranger to such intense emotional outbursts and he seemed to deal well enough with them by himself. But now, he found himself uncomfortable with leaving Zant until he had calmed down, putting the ebbing throb in his groin far out of his mind to attend to the more pressing problem before him.

But still, as to how to attend to Zant, Ghirahim was truly at a loss – he knew not what to say or do to calm him. This was one skill that, was much as he hated to admit it, Ghirahim simply did not possess.

He stayed with him, loosely embracing the Twili as he cried. Zant would occasionally mumble to himself, in a strange hybrid of Hylian and his own native Twili – Ghirahim caught something about how the two were supposed to be bonded forever – and whatever he was saying would cause him to spiral into more forceful sobs. Ghirahim just held him tighter and shushed him, partly to calm the Twili and also so he could mull over such a thought: the two of them bonded for life? It sounded ludicrous.

Frankly, Ghirahim hadn’t expected this particular involvement of his to last all that long – he had satiated his initial curiosity long ago, bedding the Twili with minimal effort, but, while most of his exploits were quite brief, Zant came back, over and over, with his strange kisses and words of love. Ghirahim flinched inwardly at the word: love. Such a silly, fickle thing, to be infatuated with another.

Love was not for Ghirahim – or rather, he had only felt true, undying devotion to one being: his original master, Demise. He postulated if love and devotion were actually the same sort of thing, though – his relationship with Demise was that of a stalwart servant, and definitely free of physical intimacy. Whatever they had, it was definitely one-sided – his master never really returned any of Ghirahim’s gestures – he was, first and foremost, his master’s sword. A possession. A tool. But still, he followed.

He couldn’t help but be reminded of the twinge of longing he felt when he first saw his current master, Ganondorf, a reincarnation of Demise’s burning hatred – but they were not the same being – Ganondorf did not recognize the sword spirit, and while Ghirahim pursued the Gerudo initially, the feelings ebbed. It was merely childish infatuation.

Ghirahim’s thoughts were interrupted by a squeeze of his hand – Zant had finally calmed down, falling asleep in the demon’s arms. Ghirahim returned the gesture, but decided to think on this incident a bit more. He pressed one last kiss to the Twili’s neck before teleporting from the room to return to his own chambers.


	2. Pry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perplexed by the depression that haunts his favorite Twili, Ghirahim decides to take matters into his own hands and investigate.

A few weeks had passed since that last intimate encounter; the event had left Zant despondent and all but bed-ridden. The monarch became a ghost, scarce to appear outside of the occasional meal and even then, his meals were meager in size. Zant grew especially upset around Ghirahim; he trembled when the sword approached him – his emotions threatened to bubble and pour from him should they speak. Instead, Zant continued to cry alone; he hid away from the world in his chambers. Those who walked by - Ghirahim included - became accustomed to the echo of the Twili’s wailing against the stone halls.

Ghirahim found this change in Zant’s mood to be particularly vexatious. Yes, he pitied his Twili – such emotional turmoil was easy to pity, if not to ridicule. But the demon had his own needs – he grew fatigued without Zant at his beck and call. He longed to situate himself against the Twili, to explore every inch of the length of his body. He yearned to have him again – to hear his moans of want instead of these blasted wails of grief. A dark swirl, a swooping feeling of hollow pain plagued him, but Ghirahim was quick to distract himself with its emergence – no, he would not allow Zant to affect him in such a way – absolutely not.

Unfortunately for both of them, their positions as Ganondorf’s lieutenants required their full attention. The Gerudo had planned an attack on Hyrule Field; both Ghirahim and Zant needed to be at their full capacity to aid their master. And Ganondorf cared little for the entanglement of his two commanding officers, and even less so for Zant’s blubbering. Everyone still had to do their part, regardless of petty emotional issues.

* * *

The sun rose on the day of battle – Ghirahim charged forward, leading a faction of his master’s army to the east while Zant advanced to the west. The Twili, while still in an anguished state, was surprisingly goal-oriented; enemy blows were repelled to his side with little effort as he progressed. Ganondorf trekked behind, following to support the advance; he lent his impressive strength and handled the straggling Hylian soldiers with great ease. Ghirahim considered this arrangement was for the best – the possibility lingered that his presence would merely serve as a distraction to the Twili.

When it came down to it, Ghirahim may have been the one distracted. Outright refusing to come to the aid of his designated struggling troops, he pressed onward to rendezvous with his companion. He overlooked enemy commanders without so much as a challenging word; the quicker they finished their work here, the better. At this moment, fixing his pesky Twilit problem was, as much as he would be loathe to admit it, his top priority.

His strategy wasn’t exactly a sound one – the sword spirit padded past another of the Hyrulean keeps in an attempt at stealth, but was quickly intercepted. A wolf, dark and almost ghost-like, tackled him, pinning him against the soil – Ghirahim was grateful that his outfit was simply a fabrication of magic. He gazed up, wide-eyed at the beast, which was adorned with familiar, glowing runes. Its jaws snapped at his throat; the demon was stunned back to the present from his bewilderment, teleporting a short distance from harm’s way.

He took his blade - forged from magic - in hand as he assessed down his enemy. Riding atop the beast was a small, spritely creature, feminine in shape: the Twili imp, Midna. Ghirahim paused, a slight hiccup in his guard; he didn’t know why he had never put two and two together: the patterns; the glowing runes; the garbled excuse for a language; the two were of the same species. Which meant…

He had taken a few too many moments to process this information; the wolf lunged at him again. Ghirahim teleported to the side once more – but not before taking a nasty bite to his exposed arm. Ghirahim’s true form, composed entirely of black metal, glinted with the sun through his tattered grey false skin. He considered himself lucky that his body wasn’t entirely corporeal – it would take no time for him to heal from such a wound, as ghastly as it appeared.

His mind was still reeling. If Midna was a Twili, then it was obvious; she would know what was wrong with Zant – with her lied a cure, a way to return him to his previous state. Ghirahim felt all rationality and logic leave from his brain – he needed an audience with this imp. Immediately.

He grinned, flashing his fangs, and charged the beast, relinquishing his sword. Instead, he gripped Midna in his gloved hands, plucking her from atop the beast. Having caught the imp off-guard, Ghirahim teleported just outside the keep; her meager form slammed against the stone wall, her helmet emitting a sharp  _clack!_  Midna writhed in his clutches, her pointed teeth bared as she snarled and screamed.

“Unhand me at once, demon sword! Before I have my wolf tear you to shreds!”

Ghirahim smirked at the girl, pinning her to the wall with a single hand across her throat. With his free hand, he snapped his fingers; a set of enchanted daggers appeared at either side of Midna’s head. They spun, following the Twilit imp as she struggled, a warning to keep the beast at bay. He clicked his tongue.

“I think not. It’s clear who has the upper hand here, pet.” He was accustomed to making a show of this, his tongue wriggling out from behind his lips to intimidate his prey. But he was quick to retract it. He was here to talk, after all – scare tactics would be wasted on a potential audience. “Besides, I merely wish to have a little chat with you – is that too much to ask?”

Midna didn’t give him the honor of a response; she glowered at the demon, her crimson eyes burning with hatred. Ghirahim was quick to note how much clearer her eyes were than the soft, glowing embers of his Twili companion, but he shoved that intrusive thought away before proceeding.

“Hm, I suppose you have a point – this might not be the appropriate time nor place. So how about I cut you a deal? Agree to meet with me after sunset; no weapons, no reinforcements… and I’ll let you escape with your life.”

Still not a word from Midna – or at least, none in Hylian. She spat out what Ghirahim could only assume to be Twili curses, choking and gasping in his grip. Her clawed fingers scrabbled and scraped at his glove. Ghirahim leaned in close to her and chuckled deep in his throat, his voice low and soft in her ear.

“I would consider my offer very carefully, little one – you’re running out of time.” His hand was poised to snap his fingers and extinguish what flickering life energy remained in Midna’s body – he threatened to end her in a single blow.

He felt the imp’s body begin to relax in his hand – Midna still glared at him, but now more out of annoyance than anger. Her breathing had slowed in an effort to conserve oxygen. After a few more moments of agonizing silence, she managed to croak something out.

“…where?”

“Hm?” Ghirahim caught himself drifting away from the situation and into other thoughts – though about what he was hard-pressed to remember.

“Where will we meet?”

“Ah, so you’re conceding! Good girl. I knew you were a smart one.” Ghirahim snapped his fingers, destroying the hovering daggers. Still, he gripped her, now on the arm rather than the neck, so as to keep her in line.

“Just beyond the borders of both our camps – on neutral territory – so as not to involve any… undesirables, hm? You understand, right? Of course you do.” Midna’s expression was still a bit frazzled, but she seemed to comply. But Ghirahim couldn’t help but think she was planning something in that swollen head of hers.

“One more thing, sweet imp: should you make an effort to beguile me…” his fangs flashed again. “I’ll track you down – and gut you like the vermin you are!”

“Now, off you go!”

* * *

Luckily, despite Ghirahim’s dawdling, for which he was duly chastised, the day was won for Ganondorf’s army – Zant, never one for celebration, but especially secluded now, retired immediately to his chambers. Ghirahim was also quick to make himself scarce, but instead transported himself past the feasts, drunken brawls, and general uproar to the edge of their camp, overlooking the vast Gerudo Desert.

From there he proceeded on foot under the setting sun, shaded from the heat by his scarlet cowl. In the distance, a rocky plateau loomed – a perfect meeting place. He climbed it through teleportation, settling himself at the peak. The boundary of the enemy camp was just barely visible from his location. The demon sent a flurry of his fabricated swords forward, each stabbing into the ground to make a discernable path. He had done all he could do at the point – Ghirahim just had to wait.

And wait, he did. He stood there, motionless, gazing out over the horizon. The sun had long set and Ghirahim found himself, while not physically in need of sleep, ready to doze off at a moment’s notice. But before he could, the demon felt his ears prick at a noise – a portal, strewn with elaborate turquoise runes - how familiar - appeared before him. Midna rode through on her Twilit Wolf, which snarled upon catching the sword spirit’s gaze.

“I trust I didn’t keep you too long, blade.” The imp bared a mischievous grin and laughed to herself.

“Not at all – but, if you will hear me, I have a few stipulations,” said Ghirahim, keeping his distance from the growling beast before him. “First – I insist you refer to me by my preferred title: _Lord Ghirahim_.”

The repulsed look on Midna’s face was quick to quash that request.

“…second, I do believe I said  _ **no weapons**_. Call off your…  _companion_.”

Midna squinted at the sword spirit, crossing her disproportionately long arms.

“ _You_ , the literal  _living weapon_ , capable of summoning any number of blades from who knows where at the drop of a hat, are asking  _me_  to disarm myself? I’d sooner dispatch myself where I stand.”

Ghirahim sneered, but was understanding of her skepticism. He was technically unable to completely disarm himself – as she said, he was, in reality, a sword. However, if he had to, he would prove that he wasn’t a threat – at least not at this point in time, anyway. And so, he collapsed – his legs folded under him as he dramatically fell to a sit, his white outfit quickly tarnished by the dusty surface of the mountain. Ghirahim raised his arms in an effort to appease the imp.

“My apologies – while I am technically incapable of complete disarmament, please take me at my word – I wish not to harm you. Please relinquish the wolf.”

The two exchanged glances for several minutes, the full moon rising farther from the horizon as they remained silent. Midna huffed to herself and opened a portal beneath her – the lupine familiar descended, finally leaving them alone.

“There.” The imp floated before Ghirahim, in a mock recline, resting her cheek in her hand. “Now – what was so damned important that you threatened to kill me lest we meet?”

“Ah yes, well.” Ghirahim placed his hands on his legs, as if to stimulate thought. Discussing the nature of his and Zant’s relationship would surely be awkward, but there was no other option.

“I… suppose it would come as no surprise to you that an object of the purest beauty such as myself,” Ghirahim tossed his curtain of silvery hair back for emphasis – to no response. “Has attracted the attention of a certain… beanstalk of a Twili.”

Midna’s eyelids lowered. “…and, why exactly would I give you advice on how to woo my greatest enemy? The one who pines after my rightful throne?”

“Well, first of all, consider the ‘wooing’ done for; we’re already intimate-”

“-that’s  _disgusting_. Why would you tell me  _ **that?!**_ ”

“-apologies. But, please, hear me – this is very important – recently, Zant tried… something with me, and went into some sort of frenzy – for weeks now he’s been locked away in his chambers, sobbing. I thought that perhaps I had missed something, perhaps having to do with his culture or biology. And since you’re the only other Twili available at the moment…”

“Well, sobbing isn’t exactly unheard of from that gangly fool…” Midna murmured to herself. “And he’s said nothing to you since this all started?”

“No – not a word from him since the night it happened, and even then I could barely understand his Hylian – something about ‘being bonded for life.’ Positively ridiculous.”

There was a great pause as the demon continued to ponder – Midna broke the silence, heaving a lofty sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” She floated to Ghirahim, settling herself in a hovering sit, mere inches from his face.

“What in the nine hells are you doi-”

A hand – small, but firm – was placed on Ghirahim’s forehead.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Midna groaned. “Just do it, foolish dagger.”

Ghirahim was reluctant to obey, but he was already risking so much by consorting with this Twili that he may as well have conceded. His lids drooped as he inhaled slowly in an effort to relax himself. There was a slight pressure and warmth against his forehead, followed by a blinding turquoise flash of some unfamiliar Twili rune – and in an instant, his mind was dark and blank, as if he looking through closed eyes.

In the vast expanse before him, there began to form highlighting billows of luminescent smoke – the demon felt both sightless and incredibly aware of his surroundings, however dark and strange they were. It was as if he was floating through the void – but his body, his physical body, he presumed, was locked in place.

Ghirahim had his own thoughts, but these images and sensations were not his – these visions were being lent to him. The demon’s chest fell in a slight panic at the realization – he would never knowingly allow for his mind be infiltrated – as he struggled, the smoky tendrils faded from view. The panic caused his mind to grow dark once more, but Midna’s voice was quick to subdue him.

“Do not resist, demon blade. We are sharing minds – it is necessary to show you the severity of this situation.” The voice floated through Ghirahim’s brain, bypassing his ears – they were communicating through thought. “This is no…  _ **lovers’**  spat_.”

There was that word again:  _love._  Ghirahim held back a retort, however, still acclimating to this process. He thought out into the open:

“Why is it that you are capable of such magic and Zant is not? He has never done anything like this.”

Ghirahim felt a great rumble, and the imp boomed, rattling his consciousness.

_“Fool!_  My magic is that bestowed upon me by my ancestors! I am Twili royalty! Zant is nothing more than a candidate; a  _poser._  He would never possess these abilities.”

The demon could help but feel offended on Zant’s behalf – he felt it appropriate that only he talk about the Twili in such a way, not that he felt like doing so.

The blue, glowing smoke before him began to shift, slowly arranging itself into intricate patterns.

“Now, if you have no further pressing questions… let me tell you a few things about our culture: we, the Twili, are a species highly driven by emotion.”

The vapors formed a loose caricature of a pair of Twili; tall and slender, with lanky arms intertwined in a loving embrace. Ghirahim felt a stirring in his core, feelings that definitely weren’t his, but still familiar to him – somewhat like those of infatuation, or devotion. Ghirahim supposed that, while their minds were melded, emotions would infiltrate his psyche as well.

“Love, in particular, is an important emotion – culturally, it has inspired many of our endeavors. We rest from our lives for love. We die for love. And we live for love. And we are the only species that has a biological process revolving around it.”

The smoke shifted yet again – the figures moved to a position that Ghirahim found incredibly familiar – that of his and Zant’s position so many nights ago. There was another surge of emotions brewing within him – an inferno of euphoria that was definitely unfamiliar to him but very powerful. The figures embraced, sitting opposite each other, undulating and kissing and biting and-

“-was it this, demon sword? Was this what upset that fool?” Even though Midna did not use her mouth, it was obvious that if it were possible, she would have spat the words.

“…yes.” Ghirahim managed to send out a thought, drowned out by the overwhelming and foreign feelings of dominating his mind – this intensity was maddening, and it was becoming more and more understandable why Zant would not respond to him that night. The Twili was probably unable to form his own thoughts.

“I suspected as much. This act is what we call a ‘Love Lock.’ It is sacred among my people – and reserved for only the highest degree of intimacy. Frankly, I’m surprised he tried it with you…”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“…sorry. But… I take it you weren’t successful?”

Ghirahim remained silent – he supposed they were truly unsuccessful. There was something that Zant desperately wanted to get out of the act that he just wasn’t achieving – the way he clung to the demon, sobbing and trying to pull him closer and closer to meet his body – if it was something so culturally relevant to him, then naturally it would be frustrating.

“…I suppose not.”

“Well then, there’s your problem. You see, this process is meant to strengthen the bond between the participants – somewhat like those between Hylian mothers feeding their infants. Beyond the need for procreation or recreation, Twili have evolved a process specifically for this purpose, and so there is a great biological need for this bond, as well. But in the event that a Love Lock fails…”

The smoke figures parted, both of them vanishing from view. An overwhelming sensation of loss, of heartbreak and despair hit Ghirahim like a lead weight – this was a feeling he knew too well, but in regards to his Master, the feeling of unrequited affections, the feeling of nothingness. They were old feelings, made fresh by the newfound emptiness before him – if he wasn’t sure his body was immobile, Ghirahim would have thought he was being pulled down through the earth.

“The devastation of failed Love Lock is equivalent to that brought about by the loss of a loved one, or even the loss of a child. It is considered one of the greatest tragedies to befall a Twil – there have been several cases of Twili dying from starvation, refusing to eat from their turmoil – I’m sure this is happening to Zant.”

This time, Ghirahim couldn’t respond – not that he didn’t wish to, but he had no idea how he would be able to. The feelings of anguish still tore at his inner core, terrible enough to wish he was capable of tearing it from his body. Midna’s voice called him back again.

“…I still can’t help but wonder why he did it. After all, you resemble a Hylian… and I assume your nethers fit that resemblance as well – that would leave the two of you incapable of a true Love Lock… and I’m sure he knew it wouldn’t work. So… why?”

It puzzled Ghirahim, as well – if Zant knew that they were doomed, and it would lead to this crushing despair, why would he risk such a thing?

Suddenly, there was a release – Ghirahim found himself once again in reality, able to open his eyes and move his body. The moon was high in the sky above the shaded dunes of the desert – how long had they been out here? Midna was floating several feet away, her hands resting behind her head as she gazed towards the night sky.

Ghirahim felt himself falling backwards to stargaze as well – stars were always best seen without obstructions or interfering light – and so this desert expanse was the perfect viewing spot. He found his mind wandering again, to how Zant would always be transfixed by the night sky, and how perhaps, taking the Twili to this spot would help him out of his current rut-

“-you know, blade,” said Midna, cutting off the sword spirit’s thoughts once again. “Zant must care an awful lot about you – to do this to himself. I mean, he was willing to risk it – just because he thought you two had even the smallest hint of a chance together. That says a lot.”

Ghirahim didn’t answer. The thought was intimidating – that Zant had such intense feelings towards him – and he wasn’t sure what to think about it. Yes, they had been involved with each other for some time, but the Twili’s affectionate gestures, frequent as they were, were, for the most part, unrequited.

Either his and Midna’s minds were still linked, or Ghirahim had been speaking out loud.

“What’s the matter, demon dagger? Do you mean to say that you don’t feel the same way for him?”

Ghirahim balked at the question, but couldn’t form a reply quickly enough.

“I would ask you to reconsider your stance on the matter – think about it: you’re outside of your territory; you’re making deals with the enemy – melding  _minds_  with the enemy – revealing details about your intimate life with  _ **me**_ , the enemy. You’re sacrificing your leader’s campaign at this very moment, as we speak – I think that speaks volumes to how you think about Zant.”

Ghirahim fumed; he propped himself up on an elbow, ready to verbally (and perhaps physically) lash the accursed imp, but she had vanished. The scattered and fading remnants of a Twilit portal were the only trace of her escape.

Left only with the moon, the stars, and a mind swarmed with puzzling thoughts, Ghirahim began his trek home, as well.


	3. Wield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghirahim returns to attempt to sort things out with Zant, but can he? And with more trouble brewing on the horizon?

Ghirahim’s return to camp was greeted with the sleepy light of the rising sun, still sheathed below the horizon. Just as he departed without detection the night before, he slipped into camp past dozing guards and tread lightly as the remainder of the warriors slept. He wondered to himself if Zant was resting soundly, as well — the Twili had always clung to sleep with fervor, usually the last of the entire compound to wake. Still, though, perhaps his slumber was not always peaceful — he could recall many instances in which the Twili’s voice slipped from his throat as he slept, brow furrowed and body trembling, evident of a nightmare.

Ghirahim wondered how often they plagued his Twili. He wondered about what Zant dreamt that riddled his mind and body so.

As a sword spirit, Ghirahim did not require sleep — in times like these, of campaigns to lead and wars to be won, he found it to be a waste of valuable time. But it did him nor his master any good to lay awake whilst the remainder of the army lay dormant. So, somehow, he found sleep — although unlike Zant, he did not bear witness to terrors at night — he didn’t see anything at all. Ghirahim merely used this hollow slumber to pass time.

The demon strode silently into the dilapidated temple in which the higher commanding officers of Ganondorf’s army — namely, Ghirahim, Zant, and the Gerudo himself — were housed. The halls were still hushed as he navigated, finding himself (as he often did) at Zant’s door. There wasn’t a single sound to be heard from behind the aged wood of the door — Ghirahim was thankful the Twili was still asleep. He was tempted to teleport himself to Zant’s side but decided against it, reminded of the simulated desolation imparted on his own mind by the Twili imp, Midna.

It was probably too soon for that.

Instead, Ghirahim sat across from the monarch’s door, slumped against cold and crumbling stone. His head still throbbed from his “council” with Midna — the whole experience, from the surges of foreign emotions to the boom of the damned imp’s voice in his brain was enough to make any lesser being physically ill, and Ghirahim’s minor ache was still fairly annoying.

Accompanying the throb in his skull were unwelcome thoughts of Zant’s current predicament. Knowing the cause of the Twili’s despair weighed heavily on Ghirahim — that he, or rather, their relationship was the source of this turmoil was unsettling. Ghirahim knew Zant’s shyness regarding such matters of intimacy would be an obstacle, but he knew that he must confront the Twili.

But what would he say?

He hadn’t a moment to strategize further before a sound — the camp’s alarm bell — assaulted his sensitive ears. Ghirahim jolted up from the wall and dashed to the open window — in the distance, from beyond the horizon, a cloud of dust rose, signaling the tumultuous approach of enemy cavalry — below him, Ghirahim saw his master’s army in a panicked scramble — soldiers hurried to grab weapons and form emergency factions. The demon knew that he was needed on the grounds immediately to lead under Ganondorf, as was Zant. He tore back to Zant’s chambers and violently rapped his fist on the ancient door to no response.

Ghirahim huffed — he had no time for this — he teleported outside to assist his men, leading a division against the advancing Hyrulean forces. He heard his master growl in frustration as the Gerudo charged past:

“How did these  _weaklings_  locate us so  ** _quickly?!_** ” Ganondorf roared as he mowed down a group of unfortunately-placed soldiers.

Ghirahim did not answer — he knew exactly how. Midna must have been followed — their meeting surely raised suspicion at the enemy camp, and it was his fault they were under attack.

And now, he was distracted — a swift blow to his side called Ghirahim back to reality. The sword spirit was quick to retaliate, silencing his assailant with an armor-piercing stab to the throat. Only pausing to savor the lifeblood that stained his own blade, Ghirahim clashed with an onslaught of enemy soldiers, felling each with little difficulty, but still finding himself overwhelmed at their sheer abundance. Where were they all coming from?

Suddenly, he saw it — only for a second, out of the corner of his eye — a pack of Hyrulean soldiers ramming against the doors of the temple in which he and his master resided. And the thought crossed his mind, blinding him like a flash of lightning.

Zant had not yet appeared on the battlefield.

He was still inside the temple.

Ghirahim bolted through an opening between the surrounding soldiers, racing to teleport himself within the temple’s stone walls. Tearing up the stairs, the demon came to Zant’s door once more — behind him, he heard the smash of their battering ram on wood, and the creaking of the door, as if about to budge under great force.

This time, Ghirahim wasted no time with etiquette and sent his body beyond the Twili’s own door. Inside of Zant’s chambers, the Twili could be found cowering in the corner of the room, shaking violently and sobbing.

“Zant!” yelled the sword spirit, rushing to the monarch’s side. He placed a hand on Zant’s shoulder only to have him flinch away from his touch.

“…listen, I know that you aren’t feeling… the best right now,” Ghirahim started, unsure of how to approach discussion of Zant’s emotional state, “but you must pull yourself together — if only for a few moments! Our master’s temple is under attack and-”

The footsteps of approaching soldiers grew louder — they must have breached the entrance and were advancing up the stairs now.

“-we must defend it! We are indebted to him, don’t you see? We have to fight! Where are your scimitars?”

Zant looked up at him, fresh tears streaming from red-hot eyes. The Twili’s lower lip quivered, threatening an overpour of saliva should he open his mouth.

“I…cannot…”

“What do you mean you can’t?” They were right outside the door now…

“My scimitars… they are magic. I cannot… not like this…I cannot summon them…” Zant covered his face with his hands, choking back more tears.

There was a pounding on the door now, the rusted hinges were sure to break in a matter of minutes. Ghirahim had to think quickly — there was no space to accommodate a full-fledged battle in this bedroom, and with Zant lacking a weapon, Ghirahim had no backup — and he would need it, based on the boisterous clamor outside of Zant’s door.

But if Zant needed a weapon…no, it would be foolish — Ghirahim had never tried it before, not with anyone besides…

The door bulged inwards — Ghirahim could see at least ten officers — Hyrulean Captains — charged with the task of breaking down the door — who knew how many others there were with them?

They had no choice but to fight back. Now.

“Stand up.” Ghirahim’s voice was sharp, not unlike the swords he was known for wielding.

“What?”

“Are you deaf? Stand.” The demon shot a gloved hand down to Zant to support him — the Twili gingerly took it and stood, slowly. He turned a cautious eye to Ghirahim, perplexed.

“I do not understand. Would I not be better off hiding?” Zant’s gaze turned downward. His arms still shook as he examined his upturned palms, balling them into fists. “I can’t summon my weapons or use any of my magic. I am no good to Master’s army like this.”

“Hold out your hands.” Ghirahim was still curt with Zant, but softened a bit to add: “And close your eyes.”

Zant did as he was told, but remained skeptical. How exactly would this get them out of their current situation? The incessant pounding against the door grew in volume as he waited for… whatever Ghirahim was about to do — what even was he about to do?

And suddenly, his arms were much heavier — there was something in his hands — the hilt of a sword. The taller’s eyes snapped open to see no one before him, and the bulging door finally splintered and snapped in two — armed forces poured into the bedroom, surrounding the Twili.

Zant looked down at the blade — it was almost as long as he was tall, jagged in shape but still clean-cut and perfectly symmetrical, decorated with a lustrous red jewel. Zant had seen many swords and daggers of Ghirahim’s before, created through magic, but he had never seen this one before.

As the circling knights drew closer, Zant realized that, with or without his [sweet o-] … his partner, he was duty bound to defend himself and his master’s castle. Lanky arms still shaking, he tried to raise the sword in a fashion so as to appear threatening — without his trademark helmet, and with this heavy weapon, he was certainly out of his element.

_You’d best use two hands to wield me, Twili — there was only ever one being with the strength to handle me with just one._

Ghirahim, having returned to the form of the Demon King’s blade for the first time in what must have been centuries (although it seemed such a short time ago — that prophetic fight against the brat of a sky-child,) called out to Zant from his new “body,” his response delayed and mind still hazy from the transformation.

He considered a quip to point out the double entendre in that last phrase, but held it to himself — now was certainly not the time. Zant’s head frantically twisted in every possible direction to locate the sound of his voice, settling on the last possible culprit.

“…Ghirahim? Is that you?”

_You sound surprised. After all, I am a **sword spirit** at heart — if I had a heart, anyway. Now, as I was saying,  **two hands.**_

Zant’s uneasiness dissovled into a grin, a look that betrayed the current situation.

“Oh, Ghirahim, my-” he caught himself, clearing his throat. “I’m glad you are safe.”

_We won’t be for much longer if you don’t heed my words — **TWO. HANDS.**  As for lifting me, while you could do with a bit of strength training, I suppose I could assist you — just let me lead, Twi…  **Zant**._

Thankfully, Ghirahim was still capable of movement as a sword — he floated slightly in Zant’s shaking hands, alleviating the strain of his size and weight. Zant stood with his partner and weapon, and swung the blade experimentally — Ghirahim moved with him, adding speed and power to the action as well as a degree of control.

_Now, Zant — **unleash hell**._

Snarling, Zant charged at the first soldier before him, Ghirahim’s knack for precision allowing him to make a swift strike through the chest — the soldier’s armor doing little to impede the acuity of the sword spirit’s edge. With a flick of the sword, Zant flung the fresh corpse from Ghirahim to collide with another soldier to his left.

The remaining soldiers were felled quickly enough, either gutted from a few broad slashes or impaled on the demon blade, which seemed to glow when bathed in the blood of his master’s enemies — with each blow, Ghirahim’s voice rang in Zant’s ears, with croons of encouragement and raucous laughter at their foes’ misfortune. Zant tore out of the room and down the hall, instantly goring the soldiers who dared cross the pair. At last, having made quick work of the invading soldiers, they made their way out to the camp’s grounds, where there was much more work to be done.

_Go on then! Show these groveling worms just who they’re dealing with!_

The Twili roared as Ghirahim’s fury tore through him, stampeding forth into the masses of Hyrulean and Gerudo forces alike, each of his swipes and slashes certain to be fatal.

_How dare they infiltrate our base? Punish them!_

A warm spray of blood wet Zant’s cheek as another soldier fell, and another, and then a unit… they found themselves having to chase down opponents now, as the enemy forces were making an active effort to avoid the partnership of sword and Twili — the demon’s voice, tinged with the scraping rasp of metal, sang praise to him as well as further voracious instructions.

_End them!_

So much bloodshed — Ghirahim moaned again as his mind surged, reveling in the glory of his own sword form — such a fight brought him back to his days as Demise’s faithful servant, his weapon, his tool of war…

He was euphoric — an energy in him was building higher and higher as his bloodthirst was sated with each fresh kill. His own thoughts were straying from cold and calculating to ones of frenzy — he and Zant were working so well in tandem. Sure, they were a team before, but now… now they were… a primal scream tore its way through their shared consciousness:

_DESTROY THEM, **MASTER!**_

Zant raised Ghirahim above his head, ready to deal both the first and finishing blow to yet another cowering enemy captain when, suddenly the blade grew unbearably heavy in the Twili’s hands. His arms sank, along with the rest of his body —  the demon blade was sent clattering to the ground as the Hylian Captain made his getaway, along with the paltry sum of remaining soldiers. Ganondorf chose not to give chase, instead rallying his troops to restoring their base.

The demon blade rose again, this time enshrouded in those familiar diamond patterns. The magic soon fell away to reveal Ghirahim as Zant was used to seeing him, although noticeably disheveled. The sword spirit knelt in the dust of the base — his pale face was dusted heavily with blush, and several strands of that fine curtain of silver hair were swept out of place.

Ghirahim panted, although a lack of air was not the culprit. His face grew hotter as he noticed the uncomfortable strain in his groin, the sweat forming on his brow — a quick glance to his side showed Zant writhing slightly against the dirt, covering his face —  there was a sheen of wetness in the crotch of his breeches that he was desperately trying (and failing) to hide by crossing his legs.

Ghirahim was positively mortified — how could he dare to let another wield him, to control him, to surrender himself so willingly to a  _mere mortal_ , and to call him…

The demon snared his hair in his fists. These feelings, such carnal things that Ghirahim had only known in the throes of physical intimacy, were misplaced in this situation — he had never been  _aroused_  to this point by being wielded as a sword. And to have Zant feel the same — it was obvious that this physical reaction wasn’t expected on his part — and it was entirely possible that Ghirahim’s emotions were shared between them, meaning that Zant’s apparent arousal belonged entirely to the demon himself.

This was too much information for Ghirahim to process — he needed space. He needed to think. He needed to attend to the rapidly-intensifying sensation between his legs.

Zant stirred and began a slow shuffle to Ghirahim’s side, but the demon paid him no heed — the Twili had only begun to offer his hand and words of concern when the sword spirit disappeared, slipping through Zant’s fingers.

Ghirahim was unable to distance himself enough to avoid hearing the monarch’s wail of utter anguish before continuing his departure.


	4. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost in the vast Gerudo Desert, Ghirahim contemplates his relationship with both Zant and his original Master, Demise. NSFW scene and mentions of abusive situations.

The desert’s shifting sands paired with the raw heat of the afternoon sun was no friend to the demon lord.

Ghirahim’s body ached as he fled, directionless, through the expanse of the Gerudo wastelands. Tears stung at his eyes, blurring his vision - though he already had no idea as to where he was going. His magic abilities were starting to falter, as well – every time he tried to rest his feet by teleporting, the distance he could throw his body grew ever shorter, until eventually he could only manage a few feet at at a time before he collapsed to the ground.

The demon rolled himself over to face the cloudless desert sky. He breathed a sigh, trying to regain his composure - if his master, Ganondorf knew he was this weak and upset over something like-

-he ached again at the term:  _his master._

The first image to come to his mind was not the Gerudo under which he served but more obvious: Demise, the Demon King, the incarnation of pure evil, in all of his glory.

_His Master._

Ghirahim was created for one purpose: to serve Demise. Most commonly, such a task required the demon to take the form of the sword, aiding his Master in combat, answering the physical beck and call of each necessary thrust and parry. Rarely was Ghirahim seen outside of this form, and even then he would simply take the shape of a humanoid sword spirit - a firm, chiseled visage in a pure ebony ore, adorned with delicate patterns of white. A sparkling silver crystal, the sword spirit’s core and source of energy, was fitted into his chest.

The demon’s lips curled into a smirk at a stray thought: the first time his Twili companion had seen this form was certainly an interesting event - he had never seen Zant so distracted, fixated on his flawless shape, occasionally pulling back that repulsive helmet to sneak a better look. Ghirahim had made sure to make the experience more pleasurable by pulling out every technique he knew, so the sun would hit his obsidian form just right, making sure to catch his eye - those  _beautiful,_  warm, glowing eyes…

His fists clenched as the demon’s chest panged again and he was brought back to his former train of thought. What would Demise even say at this moment, having witnessed such disobedience - such  _betrayal?_  He would surely be punished, and it wouldn’t have been his first offense. Ghirahim absentmindedly swept his matted, silvery bangs from his brow, exposing his often-concealed left ear to the desert heat.

With a harsh clip halfway down its length, his mangled ear was a constant reminder of Ghirahim’s failure to obey his Master’s wishes - caught out of his sword spirit body, he had been experimenting with a civilian form - the form of a demon which felt so tantalizingly  _familiar_  to him. Demise had decided to make it absolutely clear to Ghirahim exactly what he was.

_**Property.** _

The jagged edge of the shortened ear exposed the world to Ghirahim’s true form - it was the same beautifully pitch-black ore, impossibly smooth to the touch, surely a lovely and stark contrast in tone and texture. But to Ghirahim, the sensation of his sleek false skin broken by the metal was enough to turn his stomach, transporting him back to that day, when by a searing hot blade not only his ear had been marred, but his left cheek, too, branded with a diamond, and carrying that same metal texture.

It was a curse - a not-so-subtle message to Ghirahim that he could never escape or forget his duty as Demise’s blade.

Ghirahim’s gloved hands tore at his brow, smearing tears through his meticulously-applied makeup.

He was  _garbage_  – a sword bound by duty to a master who no longer reigned. The demon recalled being summoned to this time, torn from a world where Demise had been vanquished - only to meet with a reincarnation of the Demon King’s hatred: the Gerudo, Ganondorf.

For what seemed like merely a moment, Ghirahim was fulfilled again, able to serve his Master just as he did before. He was drawn to Ganondorf, sensing his Master in him and eager to serve him in whichever way he wished - he had even managed to bed the Gerudo, wishing for that midnight tryst to appease Demise in a way he had never been able to as a sword, to beg for forgiveness through pleasures of the flesh for another failure in letting the sky child defeat him in their final battle together.

It became clear to Ghirahim very quickly that Ganondorf was simply not Demise. Ghirahim’s attempt at a seduction may have been successful but only for a moment, to satisfy a long-dormant carnal need in his new master and nothing more. Even still the demon begged to be wielded as a sword, thinking that would perhaps spark a few repressed memories of their bond as master and weapon.

To say this was unsuccessful was a gross understatement. Ghirahim exposed his true form to his master, the form of a perfect blade of darkness, and was wielded with such unfamiliarity that it made the demon want to retch. Ganondorf possessed great strength, surely, but nowhere near that of Demise - in an effort to assist his new master, Ghirahim tried to aid his motions with his own, but to no avail. There was no synchronicity to their movements, fighting each other with each strike, to the point where Ghirahim merely refused to aid Ganondorf at all, holding back as he was tested exclusively as a new weapon.

Ganondorf was not pleased, saying that while Ghirahim’s edge was flawless and his craftsmanship divine, he preferred his own great swords, if only from familiarity.

“You are more essential to this campaign as a leader, not as a  _mere **weapon.**_ ”

Ghirahim was disgusted. To be cast aside for some daggers, forged from common mineral by a simple mortal blacksmith - it was an embarrassment. It was obvious that his new master had no interest in his service - he swore he would never be wielded again.

Today was a different case - necessity called for it. But Goddesses, was it  _beautiful._

Another ache met him as he recounted the skirmish, but he paid it no mind. The delicate and gentle way in which Zant held him, his willingness to accept and be enhanced by Ghirahim’s assistance - and the carnage, of course, the glorious carnage - they were nigh unstoppable together… at least until the demon sword opened his fat mouth.

Somewhat calmer, Ghirahim pulled himself up to a sit in order to assess his surroundings. In the distance he saw that familiar plateau, its image wriggling about as the heat of the desert rose through the air - the same mountain on which he consulted the imp. Tired of sand, he slowly rose and trudged across the sands to the rocky base.

As he approached the mountain, Ghirahim had to use his own physical strength to climb, as, for whatever reason, his magic was still severely suppressed. Still, it was a feat done with relative ease, even if it did stain his clothing. The demon found himself a nicely-shaded seat against a massive boulder and leaned back with a sigh.

Ghirahim shifted against the stone uncomfortably, clicking his tongue - he had managed to distract himself thus far from the bizarre arousal incurred from the raid on the Gerudo base, but now it beckoned to him again, the heat rising between his legs and straining against his trousers. The demon huffed, exasperated.  
  
At least no one was within eyesight.

Slipping a hand under his waistband, the demon began to tease himself - delicate fingers, no longer gloved in an act of courtesy to himself, traced along the sensitive head and across the shaft, which pulsed against him at the slight touch.

Ghirahim curled his fingers around his cock, stroking gently while his other hand helped to shimmy his trousers farther down - he had managed the glove through magic, but that was the extent of his current capabilities. Leaning back against his rock, he quickly brought his manhood to attention, pumping steadily with his closed hand.

His actions were definitely pleasurable, but they weren’t enough to satisfy him - he was nowhere near his release. Ghirahim would have to get creative.

While the desert air was quite dry, Ghirahim managed to slather his palm with saliva, wrapping his extensive tongue around the entire hand. The added wetness coaxed a moan from closed lips - Ghirahim couldn’t help but be reminded of any of several nights where he had been graced by a certain sweet mouth, teased by a short, darting tongue. If only he could recreate the sensation of a moan against his cock, much like those from that mouth as it stretched to take him in, or even a kiss against him, soft and caring.

Fueled by thoughts of Zant, that  _sweet, **beautiful**_  Twili, Ghirahim could increase his pace, but still found no release, only a horrid strain in his groin that brought the demon great frustration.

Something curious happened then - the tension moved through Ghirahim’s body, through the pit of his stomach and into his chest, melding with the mysterious pangs that plagued his core. The feeling was odd - dangerously, beautifully odd. Ghirahim heard a splintering  _crack!_  as he felt his false skin shatter away. Free to the world, Ghirahim’s crystal core, his heart of hearts, pulsed in a manner unfamiliar to the demon lord.

Gazing down at the gem, set in jagged lines of the purest obsidian, the demon saw that instead of the usual silver, it glowed a deep pink, the hue of a blushing fool. It pulsed with a rhythm reminiscent of a frantic heartbeat, a tone resonating from it as high and piercing as it was deep and roaring. His head swimming, but still curious, Ghirahim reached outspread fingertips to touch his crystal, bracing himself for the worst.

Nothing.

Ghirahim wasn’t totally surprised - while this particular feeling was unfamiliar to him, the pangs of energy buildup from his time as a sword had often plagued him, and could only be resolved by his Master, usually through the removal of his sword form through his own chest. It was a painful process, surely, but enough to alleviate the tension.

_**Master.** _

Ghirahim reeled. Zant was  **not**  his Master. He didn’t care if his gem were to split in two should he go an eternity without being wielded by the Usurper King again. He refused to use that title - not on Zant.

But even Ganondorf, the incarnation of his own Master’s hatred - literally the closest being in the universe to Demise - did not stir such feelings in him after wielding him. Even his original Master did not cause him to feel this way, this mixture of emotion and physical pain. He did not ache now for Ganondorf to touch him, to rid him of this plague, nor even for Demise, but for his Twili.

It was so  _frustrating_  - Zant could not be his Master because Ghirahim surely wasn’t his servant, nor his tool of war. He was not Zant’s to possess, because the Twili was simply too  _kind_  and  _gentle_  to use him in that way, and no matter how  _beautifully_  violent their shared experiences were; no matter how  _sincerely_  he enjoyed the Twili’s company; no matter how  _deeply_  he wished for Zant’s happiness - for him to be free from his depression; no matter how much he  _ **loved**_  him-

Another pulse, more intense than before, tore through him at that thought. And yet it did not cause Ghirahim pain… but an incredible rush of clarity.

 _He **loved**  Zant._ Truly, he loved him - enough to bare himself to him, to side with him in battle in the most explicit way, and to bond with him at his core. He  _chose_  Zant.

And it wasn’t just at the raid - flooding through him were memories of even their first encounters with each other - seeing that  _adorable_  mouth for the first time, paired with that  _voice_  - able to fluctuate between a high timidity and a deep, commanding tone - and those  _luminous eyes,_  those  _beautiful, intricate patterns…_  he had become enamored with him almost immediately.

And then, when he was approached by the Twili, that first kiss - sure it was goaded from Zant, Ghirahim couldn’t help himself - he knew something was different. In the bedroom with Zant, something was different - something different from the countless suitors and partners the demon had taken in the past, and it kept him coming back over and over again. Through returning to Zant, he felt himself change, growing gentler, electing not only to take the Twili in bed but to simply spend time by his side, to chat or to bathe - to enjoy each other in all aspects.

He had loved the Twili from the very beginning - Ghirahim realized it now - and it was the greatest feeling he had ever known, more important to the demon lord than any previous duty or purpose that had ever been imparted on him.

Zant was not to be Ghirahim’s Master, but his  _partner._  The equality, the push and pull of their fighting style, Ghirahim’s assistance and encouragement meeting Zant’s actions and motions - this was a true partnership, beautiful and unbreakable.

The rush of the epiphany was so intense that Ghirahim hadn’t even noticed his own release, having spilled onto the ground some time ago. It was no matter to the demon lord - cleaning up as best he could through what magic he could muster, he continued to contemplate what this all meant.

Obviously Zant loved him, as well…  _right?_

The demon recalled Midna’s words, that Zant surely cared for Ghirahim, to the point of dooming himself just for a chance to bond to him. Ghirahim wondered how many of those lovely Twili phrases uttered through the night were confessions of  _love,_  kept secret by a language barrier.

Ghirahim had to tell Zant - as soon as possible. He could see his companion’s face now, a sharp-toothed smile stretching dark, delicious, notched lips, those golden, shining eyes welling with fresh tears of joy. Oh, and the sweet, soft  _kisses_  he’d receive! Ghirahim could hardly wait to reveal his feelings, to meet Zant’s expectations so perfectly.

But for it to be perfect, he had to formulate a plan - would just simply saying “I love you” be enough? No - he had to find a way to drive it home, to really make an impact - this confession needed the over-the-top flair that only Ghirahim was capable of providing. Then it came to him.

Ghirahim had to learn to say these words in Twili - it was the only way he could think to make it as special as possible, to surprise and flatter Zant. It was romantic, thoughtful, and perhaps only the slightest bit contrived. But how would he accomplish it?

Zant said so many varying phrases in his native tongue that Ghirahim couldn’t pick a specific one out by memory - and even if he could, his choice may not have been correct. There were no scrolls available, no resources for learning his language besides direct instruction. And if he couldn’t learn from Zant - at least not without ruining the surprise, then from whom?

 _Midna._  It was so deliciously simple. He would ask the imp for a small lesson, and leave it at that. However, he needed this information as quickly as possible - waiting for another battle with the Hyrulean forces would take much too long, and the girl wouldn’t simply agree to meet with Ghirahim a second time under the same pretenses…

So Ghirahim would go to her, under the cover of nightfall - the demon predicted that if he left now, he would arrive at the enemy fortress after the moon had risen. He would merely resort to concealing himself in the shadows now that he was unable to teleport. It was a perfect plan.

Picking himself up and dusting off his clothing in an attempt to look presentable for an audience with the imp, he set off in the opposite direction from his own base, scarcely visible in the distant desert, and towards the forested area, wherein laid his target. He did not trudge as before but now held a steady pace, feeling such a lightness in his chest as his feet flew much faster, with the wings of love beneath them.

* * *

Night had fallen long before Ghirahim’s arrival at the enemy boundary, secluded deep in the Faron Woods. The Hyrulean base was definitely more secure than his own, with castle guards stationed positively everywhere, alert and capable. Still, surveying the imposing fortress from a distance allowed the demon to pinpoint a single guard about to doze off, and he stealthily slunk past without being spotted.

Now that he was inside, the next order of business was to locate Midna. Concealed in the shadow of each edifice, he listened for that voice, feminine but still childish, but to no avail - perhaps she had retired for the night. If that was the case, Ghirahim would have to find her sleeping quarters then, and the sun would most certainly rise before he did…

“Of all places I could catch you, dagger, here may be the most  _foolish._ ”

Ghirahim whipped his head around to see the Twili imp, floating mere inches from the stark tip of his nose. Scrambling, he hurried a gentleman’s bow, dipping at the waist.

“Midna, my girl, I come humbly asking for your council. This is of the utmost importance you see and… I don’t suppose we could go somewhere more private…?”

The imp smirked, a single fang protruding from thin lips. Her eyes, while so much different than Zant’s, still glowed in the darkness of the night.

“And why would I do that? You’re an intruder, after all - what’s stopping me from summoning a guard? Or the captain, Impa? Or even her majesty, herself?”

Ghirahim had to remain composed under such pressure or he would surely pay - either by the Hyrulean army’s hand, or worse, Ganondorf’s.

“…I understand my brashness in meeting you here. But I simply must speak with you one last time -  _please._

I trust you know what this is about?”

Midna’s face fell to a slight frown as she contemplated, twiddling her fingers.

“What’s the matter, dagger? Do you need more advice on how to charm the glowworm?” She laughed. “I should warn you - I don’t know his date of birth, so I wouldn’t ask for any gift ideas.”

Ghirahim was not amused - he grew tired of the games, but he had to appeal to Midna’s better nature - if she had one.

“Midna, please, I… I  _implore_  of you.” That phrase stung to say, but it was necessary - and it wasn’t entirely untrue. “Please hear my request, and I promise: in every altercation here forth, every battle, you will never see me again.”

Midna shifted to her side, propped up on an elbow as that smirk crawled across her face once more. She was definitely enjoying this - a little too much for Ghirahim’s liking. She sighed.

“I suppose I could provide some assistance - but only because you seem so desperate. And… perhaps because this whole situation is rather endearing. You could do  _so_  much better, you know.”

The imp floated backwards from Ghirahim and threw a quick burst of that dark magic at the ground between them. A portal, strewn with turquoise runes, opened below.

“Now let’s find a good place to talk, hm?”

Ghirahim was hesitant to enter the strange passage, but he had no choice. If Midna was to trick him now, he deserved it - but he simply cared too much about his goal. He had to do this - for Zant. He stepped onto the portal, Midna floating to him and perching on his shoulder, “to save a trip,” she claimed.

The portal travel was really quite interesting - there was none of the jarring, potentially-sickening motion of his own teleportation magic, but rather a quick and immediate placement in their new location: a barren field, torn by a previous battle. Ghirahim knew it well - the same field on which he had initially approached Midna about Zant’s failed Love Lock.

Midna floated up from the demon’s shoulder to a position across from him, shifting to a hovering sit. Ghirahim sat himself down on some soft-looking grass, being careful to avoid much movement so as not to stain his outfit.

“So, what seems to be the problem this time?” laughed Midna with a quizzical look. “Looking for a way to apologize for stepping on the string bean’s hideous robes?”

Ghirahim held back the urge to glower, instead clearing his throat. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly to calm himself.

“I have come to you asking for a language lesson.”

Midna’s long ears pricked, a grin spreading across her face. She lowered her eyelids.

“Oh? Looking for some new  _dirty talk,_  hmm? I can’t say I’d be comfortable teaching you such language.”

The demon balked, grateful that the shadow of the night hid a slight blush. This imp was really pushing it.

“No.” He was blunt - he has to be at this point. “I only wish to tell Zant that I love him. Surely that is a simple task?  _‘I love you?’_  That’s all I want from you.”

Midna couldn’t hold back a positively raucous laugh, rolling through the air onto her back.

“So, you finally got it through your thick skull! I swear, you sword spirits can be frightfully  _dense_  sometimes. It must be all the metal - that blue one can’t even understand a simple joke!”

Again, Ghirahim struggled to remain composed, clenching his fists in his cloak. He could take the occasional joke at his expense, surely - and this was much more important than his pride. He waited for Midna’s laughter to fade, and surely enough, it did - after a few minutes of giggling. The imp regained herself and sneered at the demon lord again.

“So that’s all? Just that phrase?”

“Yes. Help me to say it perfectly -  _please._ ”

Midna stretched and popped a few joints before settling down onto the grass herself. She straightened her back, and moved to face Ghirahim.

“Well, then - let’s get started! And do try to leave me alone after this - I’d like to avoid a reputation as the Twili Love Guru.”


	5. Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghirahim is confronted by Zant, stretched thin and exasperated with the demon lord - can Ghirahim make it up to his Twili, now that he understands his own feelings?

Midna’s idea of a short lesson was rather arduous. They must have been practicing for hours, the imp picking apart Ghirahim’s apparent ineptitude bit by bit, raising a different stipulation with each try.

“Don’t speak through your nose,  _dagger._ ”

“Your vowels are too long…and that  ** _accent_**  - you’re trying to sound  _believable_ , I’m sure?”

Ghirahim glowered, but raised no fuss - he assumed that Midna only cared so much about his pronunciation because, in a strange way, he had her blessing - if only out of amusement - and that humorous thought alone was enough to keep him from snapping under the imp’s tutelage.

When Midna could truly say she was satisfied with her handiwork, the sky was already beginning to lighten, ahead of the rising sun. Not one for formalities, the imp threw another blast of portal magic at the ground, motioning for Ghirahim to enter. The demon shot her a look, his expression skeptical.

“Where will this take me?” he asked, still rather uneasy about trusting Midna - after all, she may have just been toying with her catch before placing him in the clutches of her superiors…

“Back to your base, of course.”

Ghirahim scoffed.

“Oh,  _really?_  And if you could manage that all this time, how come you haven’t attempted a strike on my mast- Ganondorf’s fortress already? I’ve never seen portals such as these on our grounds.”

“To put it  _simply_ , I never felt like wasting my time with such a thing. But if you’re so inclined to give me ideas…” She smirked, brandishing that sharp fang again. Ghirahim decided not to push his luck.

“…I see. Well, I suppose I’ll simply have to take your word for it - but if this is an attempt at a trick, remember my words from before! You’ll surely pay!” The demon smiled, but tried to convey a very real threat in his voice.

Midna laughed. “I’m sure I will. Now off you go, dagger - run to your little lover.” Winking, she floated off, departing through a portal of her own.

Swallowing, the demon stepped into the deep mass of darkness, and sure enough, he came out the other side, unharmed and conveniently placed before the wooden fortress door. Ghirahim exhaled in relief - the imp had outdone herself - a strange but valued ally in this whole situation. While he was certainly grateful to Midna, perhaps it would be unite to let Zant’s know of her involvement.

Quietly entering the ancient temple, Ghirahim padded through the stone halls to Zant’s sleeping quarters and peeked inside, only to find him absent - while the blood from the raid had been removed for the most part, there was still a pungence in the air, enough to keep anyone from sleeping - not to mention the complete lack of a door and the gored bed, still shedding feathers from several cavernous gashes left by Hyrulean swords.

The sword spirit searched high and low throughout the fortress, wherever he thought his Twili may have been hiding: the demon’s own chambers, still locked; the bath, dry as a bone; not a single trace of Zant was to be found in any of the usual locations.

Descending the main stairwell to strategize a search of the grounds, the glint of metal caught the corner of the demon’s eye - Zant’s helmet! Never had Ghirahim been more excited to see that silly, reptilian thing, and there it was - sitting atop a wooden bench in the abandoned mess hall, right next to its owner. Zant was hunched over the table, resting his head gently on his crossed arms.

…had he been  _sleeping_  there?

Ghirahim moved quietly towards the slumbering figure, practically bubbling over with excitement. Already he felt his strength returning in the presence of the Twili. Oh, his love would be so happy to see him, and so ecstatic to hear him say those words - and in his native language, no less! Just the thought of Zant’s smiling face made the demon’s core flutter. Ghirahim called out to the Twili, simply unable to contain himself any longer.

“Zant! I’ve returned to you!” he sang, eager to see that adorable grin, those lovely eyes!

The Twili stirred, slowly lifting his head from the dark wood of the table with a soft groan. Dark rings were set under his eyes, which didn’t glow, but instead were a flat orange with lack of sleep. He turned to face Ghirahim, pausing - as if to study the demon before him - before huffing and turning away, choosing instead to stare the wall opposite his seat.

Immediately Ghirahim knew something was wrong. This was nothing like what he expected - Zant was paying his return no heed, and actually seemed… _angry._  Greatly unsettled by the silence, the demon pressed onward.

“It’s a bit early for breakfast…were you sleeping in the mess hall?”

“My sleeping chambers have been destroyed.”

He was blunt, monotone, either from lack of sleep, or something else… There was another stretch of silence, which Ghirahim was beginning to find physically painful. Did Zant not have other options as far as a place to sleep?

“Why wouldn’t you take my quarters for the night? I’m sure the master would have allowed you entry. Surely, my bed would have been better than stretching yourself over a dining table?”

Zant sighed again, almost sounding annoyed, and placed his head back down on his folded arms, tucked away in their sleeves - perhaps he was just tired? The Twili was well-known for crankiness when he hadn’t slept a full night.

Ghirahim inhaled, figuring now was as good a time as any to announce the news - remembering his practice with Midna, he began his little speech.

“Anyway, Zant, I come bearing  _excellent_  news - you see, while I was in the desert, I got to thinking: ‘Why did I call you ‘Master?” - well, what I mean to say is, you aren’t my  ** _Master,_**  per say, that would be Demise,  _of course_ , but what I  _mean_  by that is-“

Zant’s head whipped to face him, his eyes dark with anger, lacking their usual luster.

“Is  _that_  what you were doing all night?  _Thinking in the desert?_ ” His voice was sharp now, cutting - punctuated with a soft hiss as his pointed, needling teeth were bared. Ghirahim found himself faltering, shocked by the sudden aggression.

“Well…yes, I mean after that raid, I needed time to-”

“ _You_  needed time? What about what  _I_  needed, Ghirahim? I needed  ** _you!”_**  Zant’s lips curled back to show off those teeth again, his brow knitted with a mix of sorrow and rage. “You just thrust yourself on me, calling me your  ** _'master,’_**  and left me behind once you were done with me! I had missed you so much these past days, and you returned only to  ** _tease_**  me - to fight alongside me and make me strong - and leave me again when I needed an explanation.”

Ghirahim’s stomach churned - he opened his mouth, at the very least to defend himself, but he was cut off again, halted by the Twili’s voice, having grown quite shrill in pitch.

“And now you come to me, after another night of leaving me alone, to tell me you spent the night  _thinking of your master?_ ” He seethed through his teeth, eyes burning into the demon. “I have never met your master, Ghirahim, nor do I know of him - but the absolute  ** _emotional constipation_**  you have regarding this 'Demise’ is becoming positively unbearable.”

The Twili was standing now, his voice and motions growing more frantic with each word, those now-glowing eyes threatening to run over with tears. Ghirahim slowly backed away, unsure of what Zant was about do to him in such a state.

“All you have ever done to me is  _tease_  me, Ghirahim! You make me feel  _wonderful,_  you bring me up so high and then do nothing but watch as I fall! I am only a  _plaything_  to you –  a  ** _toy!_**  I refuse to indulge such behavior for any longer, Ghirahim! I may not be Iike you or your master, but am your equal, and my emotions are not to be meddled with!”

This intense burst of energy was short-lived and Ghirahim could detect that - already Zant was growing quieter, fading away. But he said last thing before becoming silent again, and while they were quiet, the words cut the demon like one of his own daggers:

“I was such a  **fool**  to think we would spend our lives together…that  _you_  could be my mate…”

The Twili had exhausted himself fully, the hollow, listless look returning to his eyes. Ghirahim shook as he tried to think of a retort, but he was truly unable to excuse himself from such accusations - Zant was completely justified. Ghirahim put himself above the Twili’s feelings for so long, and it was an absolutely horrible thing to have done. His core ached as he tried to search for words - anything he could say.

“…may I speak, Zant?”

Zant slumped back into his seat at the dining table with a thud, turning to face the wall again.

“I’m so _tired_ of words, Ghirahim. Words are all you ever have.”

“ ** _Please_** , Zant,” Ghirahim said, struggling to keep his voice steady for fear that tears would drown his words. “Please hear me. I am ashamed of what I’ve done, truly. I never knew how deeply I’ve hurt you, and…I’m so sorry. But  _please_  let me say what I came to tell you…”

Zant said nothing. So Ghirahim began again.

_“[I love you,] Zant.”_

Ghirahim could have sworn he saw Zant’s glowing ears prick just slightly at the phrase, his golden eyes widening, but he continued.

“I did not know at the time, but it all makes sense to me now - from that first time you kissed me…and maybe _earlier_ , the  _entire_  time, I’ve wanted you, to be with you at all times, to see you happy…and I just didn’t know. I didn’t know what love was - for I’ve never known love, Zant. But I know now that…

”…I know that doesn’t excuse my positively vile behavior these past few days, but please know that I promise to do anything - everything to repay you, to help you heal. To see you this way, and by my own doing…it  _pains_  me, deeply - at my  ** _very core_**.  ** _Please_** , Zant… without flowery words or turns of phrase, know that I choose _you…_ Over any former master or anything else in the world.

“ **[I love you,] Zant.”**

Ghirahim looked up, to see that Zant had turned to face him - eyes glistening with fresh tears. The sword spirit approached him, slowly, his arms outspread as an offering, to beg forgiveness from the Twili.

And after a slight pause - a breath - Zant took it. He bolted up from his chair, with enough force to knock it over, clutching Ghirahim to his body. The Twili shook violently as he cried, massive tears dripping down onto Ghirahim’s face, but the demon paid them no heed, as they were soon joined by his own.

The pair stood there together, enveloped by each other’s arms. Ghirahim rocked with Zant, nuzzling against those soft robes, endlessly alternating between heartfelt apologies and his new “[I love you,]” which was so, so much easier to say now, until he was sure he’d lose his voice. The Twili shifted a bit in his arms, pulling back only to look Ghirahim in the eyes. His face stained with tears, but still beautiful, Zant was all Ghirahim wanted to see for an eternity.

“ _[I love you,] Ghirahim.”_

It was soft, but Ghirahim definitely caught it. And his core, still aching for attention from his Twili, soared. He had to act on it, to take a chance, if only just a small one.

“…may I kiss you?” asked the demon. He felt an urge to let Zant set the pace, their relationship brought back up from almost nothing - a  **second chance**  - and he wouldn’t waste it with his old ways.

Zant nodded, slowly lowering his head to meet Ghirahim’s lips with his own. Their kiss was soft and gentle, but still so full of love, as if they were kissing for the first time once more. Ghirahim shook as another pulse came from his gem, still concealed beneath his false skin. Zant’s knees buckled, his body beginning to slump against that of the sword spirit - he was obviously deprived of a good rest.

Ghirahim chuckled to himself. “My love, you need sleep - let’s retire for a few moments.”

* * *

In Ghirahim’s chambers, Zant slept soundly beneath the scarlet blankets that adorned the sword spirit’s bed. Ghirahim sat beside the Twili, watching him sleep with a newfound adoration. He blinked away welling tears as he wanted so desperately to embrace Zant, to kiss him and apologize even more for all he’s done, but remained to the side so as not to disturb his slumber. However, the demon could not stop himself from slipping under the sheets, nestled against the warm, soft Twili as he slept.

They lied there for some time - Ghirahim found himself entranced by the natural rhythm of Zant’s breathing, the rise and fall of that lean body accompanied by soft noises, which the demon found absolutely adorable. His core fluttered again, but Ghirahim tried to stifle it, pressing harder into Zant’s body. The Twili stirred, his eyelids slowly lifting to meet Ghirahim’s gaze.

“Is something the matter, my [sweet one?]” - his voice was still so soft with sleep.

Ghirahim smiled and kissed Zant’s brow.

“No - everything is perfect, Zant.”

However, he couldn’t suppress a wince as he ached again, his gem desperate to be freed in the presence of his love. Zant reached out his fingertips, slowly, to touch Ghirahim, to inspect him, and the pulsing grew rapid, like the chaotic heartbeat of a caged animal, and definitely detectable by Zant’s sensitive fingers. The Twili’s eyes widened with concern.

“Ghirahim! Your  _chest_ , it’s-”

“I know,” said the sword spirit, placing his own hand over his chest in a futile attempt to suppress the gem. “…my core, it chose you…and it  ** _wants_**  you…” Ghirahim felt himself blushing, heat rising through his ears. “ ** _I_** want you, as well, but…do not do anything with which you are uncomfortable…I’ll be fine, really.”

Zant was already gingerly removing Ghirahim’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to the area left behind. Ghirahim moaned and arched, his crystal so sensitive to Zant, even from behind his false skin. Zant looked up at him and smiled.

“Let me take care of you - everything will be all right, _[star of my sky.]_ ”

Ghirahim felt his ears dip at a new term of endearment - while he’d have to ask for a translation later, the demon couldn’t help but wonder if Zant had been saving it for later or he had just come up with it. Zant wriggled out from underneath the blankets and held Ghirahim’s shoulders, propping him up against every available pillow and cushion to ensure his comfort.

Still hesitant to take things too quickly with Zant, Ghirahim used his magic to remove only his top, gloves, and bangle. Zant moved up to softly kiss and nip at the demon’s lips, before moving down to nuzzle at Ghirahim’s neck. The demon arched, tipping back his head - a reflex, latent from centuries ago - to expose more of his throat, baring it before his lover in an act of trust. Only a bit confused, Zant pressed more chaste kisses down the length of the demon’s neck, occasionally darting his pointed tongue out to lap at the false (while still delicately-constructed) veins.

Zant was still tending to Ghirahim’s exposed throat, coaxing more and more soft sighs and hums from the demon, when he heard that sharp, splintering crack from beneath him. The Twili looked down, newly introduced to the curious gem which held Ghirahim’s very soul - again, it glowed that warm, blushing pink, resonating beautifully for him to hear. Zant gasped in awe, tracing around the edge, set in those jagged lines of obsidian, with a single fingertip, eliciting a shaking sigh from Ghirahim.

“It is so  ** _beautiful…_** ”

The demon felt tears stinging at his eyes again - to have his lover touching him, gazing upon his gem, saying he was beautiful - and meaning it - in earnest, was so moving. He felt truly safe with Zant, bared before him and still treated so gently, and absolutely loved.

Zant continued to drag his fingertips across the zigzagging patterns adorning Ghirahim’s chest, the contrast in textures certainly pleasing. The feeling of Zant’s hands on his body was becoming too much for Ghirahim to ignore - he felt his trousers disappearing through magic, revealing his growing excitement. The demon looked up nervously at Zant, afraid that he might have, in his haste, asked too much of the Twili in his delicate emotional state, but before he could attempt to formulate the words, he was shushed, his mouth meeting with soft Twili lips once more.

Ghirahim arched again as he felt those beautiful fingertips stroking his gem, so soft and caring. Eager to feel more, the demon grabbed Zant’s hand, bringing the Twili’s entire palm to meet with his crystal.

It was too much at once - powerful energy surged through him, to the point where Ghirahim cried out, overwhelmed - his brow furrowed as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Ghirahim’s jaw froze in a silent scream as the demon’s body shook and jerked - brought up from nearly nothing, he came, spilling forth onto his stomach.

The sword spirit panted, looking down to meet Zant’s gaze, one of concern - the Twili must have thought he’d hurt Ghirahim by accident. Yet again, he felt himself tear up - it was  _humiliating,_  to have the reputation he did when it came to intimacy, and find release so embarrassingly quickly - and from a single  **touch** , no less! But in no time at all, the demon felt smooth, soft lips on him again, kissing away his tears.

Ghirahim opened his eyes, his breathing starting to return to its normal pace, to see Zant, looking down at him with such love - he would not mock him for something so insignificant as overexcitement. He felt the want, the intense  _need_  for Zant -  _his Zan_ _t_  -wash over him like a wave from the sea - he had never wanted anything or anyone more than Zant at this moment - and it was a feeling he could easily get accustomed to.

He felt Zant shuffle a bit to remove his robes, revealing to him that lean, beautiful body, which Ghirahim had never exactly taken the opportunity to appreciate as a whole - those dark, swirling markings that decorated his arms; the light, soft skin of his chest and belly; and those glowing turquoise runes, set in a spiral by his navel. Ghirahim reached up to stroke Zant’s warm chest as the Twili tugged at the waistband of his pants, pulling them off to reveal the whole of him, as well as that glistening, flushed, lovely slit between his legs. As soon as he had Zant’s full attention again, Ghirahim wasted no time in touching every inch of skin available with questing fingers, running his hands over the steep slope of Zant’s shoulders and down his back, tracing his patterns to be met with a sigh of contentment.

Zant returned his focus to the curious gem, gently stroking it with his fingers. A noise slipped from Ghirahim, a small whine or sigh with each slight touch, as Zant explored, seemingly enjoying the perfect smoothness of the gem against his sensitive fingertips. The way the Twili looked at him, like Ghirahim was the most beautiful thing in the world, only riled the demon further - moaning softly, he arched and pushed out his chest, in an effort to persuade Zant to continue, to try whatever he wanted with him.

He reached out a hand, cupping the demon’s face and tracing the edge of Ghirahim’s mouth with his thumb - the demon opened his mouth wide to take in those fingers, snaking his extensive tongue between them. Ghirahim gently sucked, teasing the Twili with his mouth and tongue, earning a small whimper.

Zant moved to the gem, this time flattening his pointed tongue against one of the its four flawlessly smooth facets, dragging to the pointed tip in the center. Ghirahim, his mouth still full of Zant’s fingers, moaned and moved his legs to wrap around the Twili’s hips, relishing in the softness of Zant’s skin against his own. Ghirahim heard a slight groan from Zant and felt them - the pair of wriggling cocks, released from their sheath in that dripping slit - wrapping around his own manhood, gently curling and stroking the demon back to attention from his last release.

Ghirahim sighed again as Zant kissed at his gem, gently suckling on the edges - an experimental action, but entirely pleasurable - the demon tore himself away from Zant’s fingers to moan again as those needling teeth grazed him, scraping ever-so-gently at the corners of the pulsing crystal. His head lolled to the side, panting, eyes peering up at Zant to watch him - the Twili was completely focused on pleasuring his demon lover. The desire inside him was growing to a fever pitch - he needed Zant. Now.

“ ** _Please_** , Zant… I _want_ you…  ** _[I love you…]_**  take me - I’m yours…”

Zant looked down at him with wide eyes, blushing a bright pink - an adorable shade - bending down to kiss at the sword spirit’s lips. Ghirahim, driven by old instincts once again, began to explore Zant’s mouth with his tongue, licking at the Twili’s sharp teeth in a bizarre gesture of submission. Zant was slightly startled, but allowed Ghirahim this ritual, taking his opportunity to position himself, lining one of his wriggling cocks up with Ghirahim’s entrance and pushing in slowly, carefully. 

The demon arched, separating from Zant’s mouth to gasp at the intrusion, but was quickly soothed by the Twili’s soft fingers rubbing tiny circles into his crystal. Zant returned to him, caressing Ghirahim’s face - he swept the demon’s curtain of silver hair to the side and kissed at the diamond brand, the wound on his left cheek - the matching ear, its length halved by the demon’s former master, was gently stroked and rolled between Zant’s fingers.

Ghirahim’s head swam - there was so much to process at once: Zant was inside of him; wrapping and coiling around him; and pressing more and more of those sweet kisses to his core - the Twili enveloped him, stimulating Ghirahim in every possible way.

“You are so beautiful, my [sweet one,]” Zant cooed, murmuring between kisses, pressed to both the demon’s lips and to his gem. “Your jewel - it  _sings_  to me - it is so  _lovely…_ ”

Zant’s kissing moved to the very tip of the gem, directly in its center, where the Twili took as much of it as he could into his mouth with a soft suck. Ghirahim cried out, his back arching again to press his resonating core further past Zant’s lips; his legs squeezing against the Twili’s hips, driving Zant deeper inside him; slender fingers tangling with those auburn strands, holding the Twili’s head over his crystal. The demon couldn’t help but laugh a bit when he felt a soft squeeze at his rear - a classic Zant maneuver, executed with perfect timing.

They were a tangle on the bed, a writhing mass of intertwining legs and arms - chaotic and passionate, but still loving. In their complete distraction in each other, they failed to notice as they approached the edge of Ghirahim’s bed, abruptly falling to the floor with a very soft “oof!” and a quick laugh before the pair adjusted themselves against the foot of the bed and regained their rhythm. Zant continued to show Ghirahim’s gem attention, timing strokes and kisses with his thrusting, while taking time to kiss the demon’s lips, as well - the Twili was always one for tenderness, and tonight - especially tonight - was no exception.

It was becoming apparent that Zant was starting to reach his edge, thrusting quite a bit harder and faster - his second cock, wrapped around Ghirahim’s own, had grown rigid, swelling and straightening out almost completely, but Ghirahim had no problem assisting by stimulating them both with his hand, briskly rubbing himself against the wet appendage, already leaking with excitement. Zant assaulted Ghirahim’s crystal core with messy, aimless kisses, nuzzling those heat pits that notched his lips against the smoothness of the gem, greedy, to feel more of that surging energy buzz through his brain.

An endless stream of Twili words poured from Zant, many of which were unknown to Ghirahim, but he could definitely pick out the frequent “[I love you]”-s, which he met with his own. He definitely had to ask for lessons, if only to add to the demon’s own repertoire. Zant’s strength and balance were beginning to falter, needing to grab on to Ghirahim to support himself as he drove his hips harder, kissing the sword spirit’s lips, pried open in a pleasured smile. The Twili lurched forward again, cupping Ghirahim’s blushing core in his palm again as a means to right himself.

Another shockwave, very familiar, but far more intense than before - now that they were so far along - tore through Ghirahim. The demon felt the incredible rush in his brain, the dizzying climb - and he experienced the beautiful fall shortly after. His vision going white, he arched and harshly gripped the Twili’s shoulders, fingernails digging into the soft flesh as Zant’s name tumbled from his lips. The entirety of the demon’s body trembled as he moaned, another powerful release spurting between their bodies.

Zant keened loudly, streams of drool pouring from the gaps in his dark lips. The intense shock and energy of Ghirahim’s climax - combined with the intoxicating way the demon moaned his own name - were the catalyst for his own. With a violent shudder, the Twili’s deep voice rose in pitch dramatically as his hips spasmed beyond his control. Zant released, filling the sword spirit completely - as well as joining him on their stomachs - a shaking sigh falling from a wet mouth. With a few slow, final thrusts into Ghirahim, Zant rode out the whole of the climax, pressing a last, sweet kiss to the demon’s parted lips.

Ghirahim sunk back against the bed, exhausted, as he felt the Twili roll off of his body, using the furniture as a crutch to bring himself to a wobbling stand. The demon closed his eyes, still basking in the residual waves of pleasure that left him so weak, and noticed that he was being lifted - scooped into Zant’s lanky arms, the Twili was carrying him back into bed. Ghirahim took a moment to nuzzle his nose and brow against the Twili’s slender chest, so soft and warm, before he was gently laid back over the sheets, feeling Zant return to his place beneath the blankets shortly after.

Ghirahim rolled to face him, reaching to hold the Twili in his arms. Zant’s arms snaked their way around the demon, keeping him close, those long fingers stroking and twirling in his hair. Ghirahim looked up at him, to see that expression, so loving, and, in that moment, considered himself the luckiest demon on this very earth. How could he have disregarded him, abandoning him to tend to his own needs?

“I mean what I say, Zant - every word.” Ghirahim squeezed the Twili tightly, to hear a soft, tired noise of acknowledgement. “I will do anything - anything in my power, and even beyond my power to make all of this - my foolishness - up to you, to prove my love…”

“Ghirahim…” The demon’s embrace was returned, a kiss placed on Ghirahim’s brow.

“Having you here with me is all I need - at the moment, all I wish is for you to join me in sleep…”

Ghirahim smiled - Zant did always tire out quickly, be it in battle or in bed. While Ghirahim didn’t need sleep, it was a simple enough adjustment to make to his routine, so long as he was with his Zant - anything for his Zant. They fell into slumber with little effort, tangled in each others’ arms and tucked beneath the scarlet sheets - and although the sun was already set high in the sky, they slept as if it were the dead of night, completely content.

For the first time he could recall, Ghirahim saw dreams - of Zant, his sweet Zant, their love, and their future - brighter and more beautiful than the very sun.


	6. Epilogue

The days following Ghirahim’s and Zant’s confession of love were not without difficulty - while he and the Twili had mutually expressed their feelings, Zant’s emotional state was still in intense disrepair from the hormonal imbalance accompanying their failed Love Lock. Although the two were inseparable, permanently sharing the demon’s sleeping quarters and often sneaking away from their master to enjoy each others’ company, Zant frequently rebuffed Ghirahim’s more intimate advances, shrugging away from deep kisses and sensual touch.

Initially, Ghirahim found this rather frustrating, taking the occasional moment to himself to attend to his more carnal desires, but over time he found that he much rather enjoyed simply spending time with Zant - in their time together Ghirahim would simply converse with the Twili, asking question upon question about Zant’s bizarre, yet captivating culture - which the monarch was more than willing to answer. There were times when a single inquiry from Ghirahim would earn him endless hours of prattle from his fellow captain, but the demon enjoyed it all the same - seeing such enthusiasm from Zant about his culture; his language; his people - it gave him every reason to treat Zant like the king he had so desperately wished to be.

While their free time was without the pleasures of the flesh, there were many aspects of their flowering bond that Ghirahim felt himself growing to appreciate far more than their original impassioned heat, devoid of emotional attachment. They groomed each other; soaking in luxuriously-perfumed baths and enjoying the weight of their partner’s body on their own; attending to each other’s hair, brushing and primping - and in the case of Zant’s mop of brittle strands, conditioning to fortify the Twili’s unruly, auburn locks.

Over the subsequent weeks, the demon noticed and rather enjoyed Zant beginning to reclaim the physical aspects of their relationship, chaste as they were; soft kisses would find their way to Ghirahim’s forehead at night, eventually reaching his lips as well - though quite often their journey ended there. It was tantamount, Ghirahim knew, that Zant be the one to set their pace - to push too far, to cross any boundary before the Twili was ready would cause Zant great anxiety, and in his current emotional state, he knew neither the Twili’s mind nor body could afford the stress.

Ghirahim could sense apprehension in Zant’s every action - each stutter, a hesitation before every touch - the demon lord knew that he was the source of the Twili’s turmoil. There would be nights, long after the rising of the desert moon - wherein he was assumed to be asleep - in which Ghirahim could feel Zant’s penetrating gaze on him, those lanky arms missing from their home around his body; soft, shaking sobs both audible in the dark and faintly detectable through their shared mattress. Ghirahim would remain silent in the darkness, assuming these moments were private, but there were numerous instances that were not hidden in the cover and quiet of the night, the Twili rendered immobile for days at a time by grief and anguish.

Ghirahim could merely provide his company - but the pangs of his own guilt were not something easily shaken. While, yes, it was true that the demon could not have been expected to facilitate their attempt at the Twili ritual - the Love Lock - without clear instruction or any sort of guidance, he was still culpable of his own refusal to understand the act’s significance, regarding it simply as a quirk; a perversion of Zant’s intricate and bizarre culture.

But now, he understood - Zant had truly desired to bond himself to Ghirahim for his entire life, long or short as that may be, he wasn’t sure - forgoing simple verbal vows like those of a Hylian wedding, the Twili wished to devote his entire being to the demon. It was a powerful act, beautiful in essence - and Ghirahim was growing to desire such a bond with Zant. He postulated, wondering if the bond Zant would feel - the unbridled attachment to him - would be anything like that he felt now, both of love and of his new cause as Zant’s sword, bonded to the Twili at his core. It was quite laughable, really - that he had inadvertently bonded himself to Zant - but, while they had agreed that referring to the Twili as his “Master” was uncomfortable for both of them, the sword spirit truly knew that he was Zant’s and Zant’s alone to wield and to hold.

But their connection was so much deeper, more complicated than that - Ghirahim desired nothing but Zant, to spend time with none but Zant, to not only do battle alongside the Twili, but to cherish even the smallest second they spent together. The demon found that every moment they were apart - be they separated by Ganondorf’s orders or otherwise - to be absolute agony, his core pulsing and groaning, yearning for blessed attention from the Twili - his Zant. And once they were reunited…those moments were of the utmost beauty, finally free to feel the Twili’s presence and soft caress after his absence.

The demon wondered if Zant had still, through all of his strife, desired such a bond - to reattempt the Love Lock and devote himself bodily to Ghirahim - but seeing the turmoil the Twili experienced just from being near him, he knew Zant couldn’t survive another failure - so he kept such inquiries to himself.

One evening, like many preceding it, after Ghirahim and Zant had been granted their leave and retired to their now shared chambers, the pair took to their usual routine - the demon would recline in his bed, disrobed for the night, looking positively regal when nestled beneath the blankets. He listened intently as Zant lectured about his Twili customs - on this night in particular, Zant focused Twili festivals.

“So, which would you say is your absolute favorite?” the demon posed, rolling to his side in order to gaze at the Twili from a new angle. “Of all of the holidays and festivities?” Ghirahim always appreciated the subtleties of Zant’s changes in expression - his dark ears dipped and pricked at the inquiry, but his eyes glowed like embers, widening as he carefully considered his answer.

“Well,” he said, seating himself on the edge of the bed to face Ghirahim, “the bounty festivals are always a common choice among Twili - as we prepare so much delicious food to celebrate the new harvest - but I would have to say… I like our love festivals the best. It is such a lovely, wonderful season - and everyone is so happy - all of the Twili decorate their houses with totems depicting the guardians of love and….”

As he spoke, a slight blush crawled across the Twili’s cheeks at the mention of romance, and Ghirahim smirked and he flipped to his stomach, poised and ready to capitalize.

“Ah, yes - you did say there was a mating season, didn’t you?”

Zant balked - his mouth fell open as his sloped, pale cheeks turned scarlet, his glowing eyes bugging - he frantically shook his head, waving his hands to quash such a thought.

“N-no! That is not what I mean! The season to which you refer is for, um…” the blush stained the Twili’s face further as his pointed ears fell. “You know…procreation…babies…”

Ghirahim’s grin widened as he chuckled to himself - seeing Zant so flustered was always a treat. The cold, composed, kingly visage he held in battle and when addressing his troops was, after all, only an act, and Ghirahim relished in the opportunity to see the Twili’s true self.

“I see - well, what on earth makes these love festivals so special? Compared to the mating season, such things sound fairly tame…”

Zant was quick to shoot him a look of annoyance - he had explained the concept of Twili heat - an event of frenzied rutting and carnal frustration - to the demon already, and felt a personal sense of shame and embarrassment regarding the subject.

“Oh, hush - you know I merely jest.”

Zant threw down his hands to meet soft fabric and sighed with aggravation at Ghirahim’s incorrigibility  - but as he was still eager to educate, he continued.

“As I was saying…the love festivals are celebrations of Twili couples - be they new and courting, or…um… ” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in place, averting his eyes from meeting Ghirahim’s gaze.

The demon knew - and he spoke.

“Locked?”

Zant nodded solemly, still transfixed with the sheets below him, kneading and grasping at the crimson fabric with his long, spindly fingers. He tossed his head back to face the ceiling, quite obviously blinking back welling tears and maintain his composure.

Ghirahim was quick to comfort him, ever ready to come to Zant’s aid in such moments. He quietly sidled up to the Twili and let him lean against his own chest, running nimble fingers through soft, auburn hair as he felt Zant’s shaking breath. He cooed, softly murmuring to his lover, reassuring Zant that it was all right, that he didn’t mean to bring it up - that he was truly sorry - not just for this, but for everything. He felt Zant’s hand on his, grasping gently at Ghirahim’s fingers.

“No…” he whispered, his voice a mere croak from fighting off more tears. “It is important…you must know.” Ghirahim felt Zant press more forcefully against his body, with nearly all of his weight, nestling his head beneath the demon’s chin - the cold wetness of old tears bit at his neck, but he paid it no heed - and after several agonizing seconds of silence, Zant spoke again.

“Do you think about it, too?” He did not look up from his current position beneath Ghirahim, staring instead at the wall before him as he whispered. “The bond?”

Ghirahim fought to suppress a smile as his core leapt, his mind blank with utter joy - but hesitated to answer, if only so that he could choose his words carefully in this delicate moment. He squeezed the Twili softly.

“From what you’ve described…and from what my core tells me, deep down at the base of me - being bonded to you would be - and is - the highest honor I can imagine.”

Zant’s now trembling arms tightened around Ghirahim’s waist as a slight squeak escaped his throat. The wet spot on the demon’s shoulder grew warm once more - he placed a hand on the Twili’s back, rubbing a soft, soothing circle against intricate patterns of black on grey.

“ …And if we were to be paired, mutually - well, I would want nothing more in the entire world than that.”

Zant tore himself violently from Ghirahim - so much so that Ghirahim kicked himself inwardly for saying the wrong thing. However, he now gazed into the sword spirit’s eyes, the Twili’s face gleaming with fresh tears and thoroughly flushed with blood flow. His dark, fractured lips, while quite actively quivering, were wrenched into a grin.

“I-” he started, swallowing back the urge to openly sob, to spill over the bed sheets. “I feel the same way for you, my [sweet one!] I cannot imagine a life that is not one lived beside you, for all hours of all days, through all that may face us, I cannot!” He pressed his lips to Ghirahim’s, quickly, between his words, nuzzling the stark slopes of the demon’s chin and neck.

“Every day I have pictured it, our life together, as [mates,] a pair - but…goddesses, look at me, I am a mess…” said Zant, grinning and shaking and kissing his demon lover again and again. “I have not been able to bring myself to ask of you such a thing - to allow me to be yours…at least, not for a second time…I was so foolish to rush into it - you knew nothing and we were unprepared, I-”

Ghirahim interrupted him, pressing painted lips to the Twili’s forehead and holding him close to his body, offering stability as Zant continued to tremble.

“We will be successful this time, my love - my brave, strong Zant,” he whispered, words soft and gentle, caressing the pointed shell of Zant’s ear, earning the demon a tight squeeze. “Together, we will take whatever actions necessary to guarantee our bond - whatever must be done, be it research or ritual, consider it a mere step towards our life as a pair.”

He felt Zant’s soft hair against his skin as the Twili nodded, a keening whine emanating from behind closed lips.

* * *

A month - they had chosen to give themselves a month to prepare for the Lock. Ghirahim stayed vigilant, patrolling at the borders of each strategy meeting, calculating to the day when he and Zant would most likely have the time and privacy required to focus on nothing but each other and the act itself. It granted them enough time to get acquainted with the process, and perhaps to alleviate Zant’s various concerns.

Meanwhile, as Ghirahim tabulated the date at which they would bond, Zant occupied himself with every other remaining detail - deciding between prospective locations and even the time of day, often getting extremely emotional in the process and needing Ghirahim at hand to keep him tethered. There would be days in which Zant rode an incredible high from the thought of bonding to the demon, his excitement mounting, only to suffer a devastating crash in due time, sobbing and keening over his apprehensions - that it wouldn’t work, that they couldn’t do it, how this was a horrible idea.

There was a good deal of knowledge that Zant had not imparted unto Ghirahim about the ritual - be it through a faulty memory or Ghirahim’s unwillingness to listen that first night, the demon did not pursue this thought - while Zant’s understanding of the Love Lock was quite a bit different than that of Midna, almost rudimentary in its simplicity, he still had a good grip on the basic biological foundation of the act, the most important of which being “Love Spots.”

Located on the inner surface of a Twili’s bodily sheath, these spots, when stimulated during a Love Lock, are what guarantees the bond. However, Zant’s iteration of such information, blushing and stammering, was much less clear, and required a few attempts. The two devoted much of their time away from the battlefield to rehearse - sometimes this took the form of an examination of Zant’s naked body, discussing the course of action to take - these sessions were often brought to an early close when the Twili became overwhelmed, unaccustomed to being bare in this context, even if an equally-naked Ghirahim was the one probing and prodding him.

Another form of rehearsal took the form of a fully-clothed choreography, in which the pair planned their every action for the actual event - each embrace was loose, draping limbs over each other and keeping very still so as not to trigger any sort of latent response. Most curious was that Ghirahim was the one unsure of himself, forgoing his usual confidence to ask a question at every turn. His natural arrogance was unneeded and unwelcome at this time - Zant was more deserving of the dedication usually given to such a facade. In a reversal of roles, Zant would be the one to soothe him, impressed with his efforts to understand and facilitate.

“You will do fine, my [sweet one] – I know you will.”

* * *

The night had come at long last - not one for unfamiliarity, Zant had chosen their shared bedroom - to no surprise - as the venue for their ritual. Long after the sun had set they prepared, Ghirahim carefully lighting tall, alabaster candles and setting them strategically around their chambers - not only to set the mood, which was certainly very important, but also to provide crucial light in order for the Love Lock to go smoothly. The demon disrobed through his usual magic, clothes disappearing in their familiar diamond shroud, and sat perched on the crimson blankets, waiting patiently for Zant to emerge from his hiding place in the washroom. He heard the Twili speaking, muffled by the closed door, in an effort to bestow courage unto himself - Ghirahim smiled at the image that floated through his mind, of Zant confronting his reflection in the mirror.

Not before long the door creaked open, a tuft of russet hair poking from behind it - its owner was soon to follow, his pale, naked body and glowing runes a vision of utmost beauty in the low light of the bedroom. Zant peered at Ghirahim - from his position before the bed, his amber eyes glimmered, following the flickering candlelight’s dance across the sword spirit’s lean musculature. Slowly and quietly, he approached, crawling gingerly onto the mattress. The demon shifted his pose slightly, in order to seem more inviting, but otherwise remained in place - it was imperative that Zant be the one to approach. The Twili sat opposite him, still a fair distance away, visibly making attempts to calm his breathing. Zant inhaled, blushing, and slowly began to spread his legs, revealing to Ghirahim his slit, already a rather lovely shade of pink, and a bit swollen in his eagerness.

Ghirahim followed suit, fanning his own thighs apart, muscles flexing - while he didn’t pack the same equipment as Zant, the sentiment behind the gesture was enough to entice the Twili closer to him - Zant gradually began to scoot himself to meet the demon, until he was close enough that he could easily cup Ghirahim’s face in his hands, gracing ivory lips with a soft kiss. Ghirahim reciprocated, tilting his chin and moving his mouth to fit perfectly with that of the Twili, noticing a slight twitch in his groin as he inhaled Zant’s distinctive scent, like that of loamy earth in a dense forest. He sighed as a wet tongue slipped across his lips, which he eagerly met with his own dextrous accessory, lightly swirling the tip over the Twili’s sensitive heat pits - Zant moaned softly at the contact, pulling Ghirahim’s features to meld more deeply with his own.

While the distance between their visages had closed completely, the sword spirit was keen to notice Zant’s hips growing ever nearer to meet him, until the Twili’s legs had found a resting place tucked behind Ghirahim’s rear. Zant pulled away from kissing the demon lord, meeting his gaze with an expectant - although nervous - expression. Ghirahim understood what he was to do - wrapping his own muscular legs around the Twili’s hips, the pale flesh soft and yielding, he slipped a hand between their bodies, dragging questing fingers down, arriving at Zant’s sheath - which was delectably warm and velvety to the touch, a pleasant wetness greeting the digit which had worked its way inside. Ghirahim gently pressed his palm to the slit, moving the now joined parts in a slow circle, further stimulating the Twili - Zant crooned softly, hips bucking up into the demon’s hand - thin, lanky arms slipped their way underneath Ghirahim’s biceps, drawing the two ever closer, until there was only room for the sword spirit’s occupied hand.

For the first time that evening, Zant spoke.

“Ghirahim.”

He looked up to meet the Twili’s gaze, glowing coals in the dim light, intense with emotion, a surge of self confidence lending itself to Zant’s expression. Ghirahim knew at that moment that - through all of the strife, the struggle, the turmoil -  Zant was ready for this. He said nothing, both out of an overwhelming sense of pride, and from the presence of soft, dark lips on his own, pressed to him almost too delicately and removed far too quickly. Gangly limbs tightened around him with a force Ghirahim might have thought unimaginable of the Twili, if he didn’t know otherwise. The slope of Zant’s forehead rested against the demon’s brow, a comforting warmth emanating from the intricate markings laid between the Twili’s eyes.

“[I love you.]”

It was faint, but purposefully so, a phrase meant for Ghirahim’s ears and his alone. Zant squeezed the demon harder, his narrow face tilting to press more sweet, soft kisses to Ghirahim’s cheek, sliding to trace along his jaw. The sword spirit arched, baring his throat for Zant’s lips and pointed tongue to reign freely. In little time, the Twili slipped further down to his shoulder, kissing and gently nipping with an open mouth, the deeply-set patterns adorning Zant’s back and limbs beginning to softly glow a beautiful turquoise, evidence of his emotions running hot beneath his skin.

It was time - Zant had given him such instructions during their rehearsals - the gleam of the Twili’s body would be his signal to initiate his part of the deed. He dipped his fingers, several this time, to search for Zant’s Love Spots, raised and puffy from their prior ministrations. Successfully identifying the swollen nodes, textured and pleasing to touch, Ghirahim pressed, rubbing a small circle against the Twili’s slit. Zant lurched with a shuddering gasp, his head whipping skyward from its station at the demon’s shoulder as the dark runes on his body flashed brighter than before - Ghirahim froze, but before he could ask if something was wrong, Zant’s hips were rutting against his fingers, the Twili’s lean, soft chest dragging harshly over his own musculature.

Zant quickly returned to burying his face against the demon lord, heat pits greedy to learn the slopes and angles of Ghirahim’s neck and shoulder - he trembled, squeezing Ghirahim harder and harder as a warm mixture of fresh tears and saliva dripped against the sword spirit’s back. Ghirahim continued his stroking, his actions growing broader, more drawn out, now that he was sure this was going in a positive direction - the Twili’s twin cocks, concealed for the procedure thus far, had unsheathed themselves, sliding from their hiding place to act on Ghirahim’s body in the same way, purely out of instinct. Their writhing and thrashing proving to be a hinderance, Ghirahim offered his own member - soft, but in need of attention - as a way to occupy the appendages. They coiled around his length in a way that brought the demon great satisfaction, but not so pleasurable as to distract him fully from his work.

They continued for some time, Ghirahim massaging and grinding to meet Zant’s actions, each movement coaxing more and more slight gasps and squeaks from the Twili. Zant, in the throes of intense emotion, could not speak or communicate with the demon, but Ghirahim knew, as the Twili’s breath hitched through the mix of whimpers, stuttering, and occasional Twili language - which Ghriahim met with his own reaffirmations of love - that Zant was enjoying himself, elated that they were to be bonded, an emotion that Ghirahim could easily match, having been bonded to the Twili as his sword. Silent tears came to his own eyes, jubilant at the idea of becoming mutually bonded as mates.

Eventually though - as the candles began to reach their limits, extinguishing one by one, darkening the room little by little - Zant’s erratic movements evened out, slowing to a halt as the Twili made attempts to catch his breath, exhalations hot against the column of Ghirahim’s neck. The glow emitting from Zant’s body softened, growing so dim that they were only faintly detectable in the darkness - the Twili’s grip on Ghirahim loosened, and he pulled back to affix his gaze on the demon lord, eyes opening for what may have been the first time since they began.

His expression was unreadable, one almost lost in thought.

“Zant…?” Ghirahim prompted - was this how it was supposed to end? He had been released from the grip of Zant’s genitals as well, but they still slowly wriggled and caressed him, eager to please.

Suddenly, Ghirahim was being pushed backwards - with the same strength that had held him so securely, he was now being held down against the bedsheets, straddled by the Twili, who now occupied himself with messily assaulting the demon’s lips with his own open mouth. Only when Zant pulled back for air did Ghirahim see a grin plastered across his face, glowing eyes squinting and creasing with bliss. The demon lord tried his best to keep up with him, craning and tilting to match Zant’s movements but the Twili was paying him no heed, riding the lasting high of surging hormones.

The same dark, notched lips that tasted him were now being dragged across Ghirahim’s other features - to his chest, where Zant stole a brief lick of a dark nipple, perking under the warm wetness of his tongue; over the firm ridges of the sword spirit’s abdominal muscles; and settling before Ghirahim’s cock, standing at attention from the earlier assistance of Zant’s own anatomy. Zant was already gracing the silky flesh with wet kisses, his tongue tracing languid circles around the tip - lapping up any precum that surfaced. Ghirahim whined, his back arching up from the mattress as Zant worked, ignoring his cues - the Twili kissed along the twitching shaft, even cupping the demon’s contracting balls in his hand and giggling to himself before taking them in mouth.

Ghirahim reached a shaky hand down, snaring a fistful of auburn hair, but even a well-timed pull did not affect Zant’s course of action. The Twili sucked at the tender part, using a slender hand to stroke Ghirahim, peering with gleeful fascination as silvery skin shifted and rolled against itself, with so many parts and shapes different from his own dual lengths. He released the demon’s sac, letting the flesh fall as Ghirahim drew in a shaky breath - Zant shifted, holding the cock to his mouth, dragging it across his heat pits, lips wrought into a pursing smile. Positioning himself at the tip once more, he kissed the head - wet again with anticipation - before pushing the length past his lips to envelop the demon lord in the wet heat of his mouth.

He moaned, unabashedly - this particular act was always a skill of Zant’s, but to tease him like this, to forgo any natural rhythm  - Ghirahim’s voice trembled as the Twili began to bob his head, pausing at the base to gaze up at the demon and squint, daring to smile with his mouth so very full, before pulling back up - his tongue swirled, dancing across the ventral surface of the hardening member. He kept no discernable pace, alternating between this agonizing lethargy and a brisk velocity, focused on the very tip, even surrendering his service to slide a loose hand along the length, pumping Ghirahim as his own hips ground eagerly into the sheets - the Twili’s cocks thrashed against the blankets, soaking them through with their natural lubricant.

As Zant’s tongue grazed the head of Ghirahim’s cock once more, the demon’s brow furrowed, a faint sheen of sweat forming as he sighed.

“Z-zant…”

It seemed his own name was something the Twili could not ignore, as he eyed Ghirahim slyly, pushing the demon’s length so far into his mouth - so deep - that the sword spirit felt the muscles of Zant’s throat contracting - loudly swallowing around his cock to pleasure not only Ghirahim’s member but also his ears, dipping at each slurping gulp against him - a heavy blush was coating the demon’s face as he neared his edge, his cherished threshold, but as beautifully decadent as Zant’s actions were, the Twili would not grant him his release, if purely out of inattention to Ghirahim’s indications of sweet, impending ruin.

Zant pulled off of him again, to regain his breath and composure, before resuming his stroking, slender fingers rolling over twitching flesh, wet kisses from an open mouth finding their homes against the length and tip of Ghirahim’s cock - the Twili laughed to himself, enamored with the demon’s anatomy and Ghirahim’s writhing - he nuzzled the base again, dragging Ghirahim over his lips.

The stimulation, small as it was, was just enough to send the demon lord over his tipping point, his toes curling as he fisted the scarlet sheets, crooning and groaning as he found his release at long last. Zant, still lavishing the demon’s member with chaste affection, gasped as his cheek and hair were suddenly coated - the warm, sticky fluid gushed and dripped from the tip as Zant continued his kissing, the only evidence of his own climax - a small puddle of luminescent cum - clinging to his writhing body, his cocks having long retreated to their sheath.

Ghirahim fell back against the mattress, panting - he shuddered as the Twili continued to attend to him, cleaning up every last bit of his release with languid strokes of his tongue. Zant finally pulled away, crawling over the demon lord’s chest to face his new mate - the Twili nuzzled and kissed at Ghirahim’s neck, a deep thrum - almost a purr - emanating from low in his throat.

“Hm - you are so warm, my [sweet one…]”

Ghirahim said nothing, still collecting himself - instead he placed a soft kiss on Zant’s forehead, eliciting a contented sigh. They lay in silence for a fair amount of time, their breathing regulating and synchronising as they enjoyed each other’s company. Abruptly, Zant rose, kneeling beside Ghirahim as he lay against the pillows. It was much darker in their chambers now, but Zant’s eyes and markings shone as brightly as ever.

“Ghirahim,” he started, his voice now a hushed whisper. “…we are [mates] now - truly, I feel it within me - we are [mates.]”

The demon lord turned to face him, a tired smile adorning his face, still quite warm from its prior blush.

“So it was a success? The Love Lock? Everything went correctly?”

“Yes - I feel…I know that it worked - I am yours now,” said Zant, touching a hand on Ghirahim’s chest. “I am yours forever and always, through anything - everything that we will face together.”

Ghirahim pulled himself up to a sit, his strength returning to him, and placed his own palm over Zant’s heart, its beat steady and strong. He pulled the Twili close to him, locking eyes with Zant’s glimmering embers.

“And I, yours, my Zant - now and forever.”

They both couldn’t help but laugh at the clichéd turns of phrase, but as they laid intertwined in each other’s arms, with the Twili already asleep - exhausted from a very emotionally and physically taxing evening - Ghirahim knew that every word held true. The demon lord started at the ceiling, stroking and twirling his Zant’s - his mate’s hair as the last of the candles’ light flickered into darkness, before he drifted off to blissful sleep himself.


End file.
